Some Might Say
by rockshocka4223
Summary: Secrets are like intestinal parasites; they eat, shatter, and deteriorate your insides until you're just done and gone. Unfortunately for Michael Mizanin, he didn't understand this until it was too late. Now all he was left with was his memories... Slash
1. Prologue

Pairings thus far: **None...this story just started. D:**

* * *

_Oh my god.....what've I done? What've I done.....what've I done....WHAT'VE I FUCKING DONE?!_

Silence. Dead, dead silence parred in the room so huge, yet so small. They all watched with such an astounding amount of shock in their bones that you would've confused them for a herd of deer in the headlights. Not a single sound made until the seconds fly faster than a comet in outer space. A room with so much former electricity and passion....crushed down to nothing more than just a couple of murmurs and small children crying out of the confusion their stout mothers have hidden them from. "No Junior, don't listen to the beast; he's a fucking _lunatic_."

Lunatic is only one of the names among a million that would be used for now on. The others that were still expected to be heard other than the typical terms used to describe a person of the kind would also be heard in due time. Freak, abomination, monster...maybe a few new ones. So much commotion over what should be considered as more of a personal choice rather than a crime amongst your workforce. It isn't like it was a murder performed right in front of the world or anything. Or maybe it was; really no way of knowing anymore. And the worst past about it was that nobody would be on your side anymore.

Your career would be over, your friends would all leave you, and your family would forever shun you away from them. You would be ostracized by every person who ever thanked you for your kind and selfless deeds done for them. You would wonder if you'd ever do something for them if you knew they'd spit in your face in the long run. Perhaps you think too much, but whenever your life has so abruptly come to an end, you tend to think things over more thoroughly. How you could've come across something in a more rational matter other than how you originally did and what difference it would've made in the long run. Like whenever you had the chance to win the lottery, but gave your ticket away to the nice elderly couple next door. If you were to have won the money, what would've changed for you? Would you still be an honorable man or woman after earning so much, or would you become a tightened noose ready for gripping those bound from your circle of repulsion?

Then you think to yourself, _"Of course I'd help; I'm too much of a pussy to ever let them down outside of work." _You know more than anybody else that you'd repeat all of your loving deeds again and again just for those people to smile, but what do they give you in return? They step on your toes, point their fingers at you, and remind you exactly how much of a ginormous loser you truly are. And you know they're absolutely right about you...how couldn't they be? They all saw things the same way as each other...is it possible they're all right, or is it that they're all warped into thinking in a one-lane fashion of yourself?

Then the discussion of love...what is love anymore? You fall for somebody you shouldn't and you get what you've been given; nothing more than a sack full of baggage and deep secrets. One moment he's best friend and then he's gone the next. Gone in an instant, almost....at least it seems. You could mope all you wanted about your loss...but what else could that do for you; cause you more trouble? All you can do is just deal with your misery like a man instead of a light-footed little prick. Your heart's only an organ for pumping blood, but why do all the same feelings just keep coming back time and time again?

But all those confusions are nothing more than just a curse inflicted upon you for the last of your days on this planet of pain and suffering. You wish you could just go home and crawl into bed for about 50 years, but no avail. Not with over 40,000 people watching your every move like starving cats. Watching, obsessing over you as they see you slowly but steadily die right in front of their eyes. But what makes it worse...they aren't the only ones watching. Eyes from all over the world saw and heard everything you said and did. Their need to watch things die from a distance has captivated their fragile minds into believing they hold the power to everything and everybody in the universe.

You said things you never wanted to say, but knew you meant them 110% at an exact. Yes, you only said a few words and everybody's reacting like the president's been shot and they're all attending his funeral. Words are the strongest doses of poison sometimes; it just depends how many injections you're willing to sacrifice. You want to take everything back and pretend you were kidding all along, but what difference would that make? You'd still suffer either way it went. Michael knew all about these things; he was the one standing alone in the four-sided ring as his enemies and friends' mouths gaped at the things he had said.

Mikey had always known this day would be the death of his being forever more and he wondered why he let them push him this far. How could he have let this happen? How could he just stand there and have his deepest secrets explode for the entire world to hear? His life, his fears....they were all out to kill him harshly. Had he even intended everything to fall apart like this? Absolutely not. So why did he let himself do it?

He had only started off doing what he was told, but one thing led to another and his almost always perky voice morphed into animalistic screams as his life seemed to flash before his eyes in a situation that, although not physically fatal, still shoved the impaler into the anus of what made Michael Mizanin what he wanted to be. How was it that just words had so much affect on him? Why couldn't he hold his anger back just one more time? Some might say that everything happens for a reason. But tell that to a man whose lost all reason within himself.

At such a horrible fault, all the poor man could do was look over at his fellow employees who were also at as much of a stand still as the audience. For so long....for so many years, he had worked so fatally hard just to keep his deepest secrets locked within his mind to never escape. But, he supposed that maybe perhaps his only friend who actually knew his secret was right whenever she said that it would eat away at him until the point of his mind just completely warping into a voided dimension of hysteria and desperation. She was right all along....she was right and all he did was brush her off and pretend that everything was alright whenever, deep down, he couldn't of been any worse.

_This can't be happening....this can't be happening....oh my god....oh my god, no...._

And whenever one minute started to feel like ten, he dropped the microphone onto the mat and covered his mouth as tightly as his right hand possibly could while his left fell to his life, lifeless. How ironic was it exactly that the very two words that Mike feared most were the first ones to come out in such a heat of anger and passion? The very two words that he's never dared to even allow himself to say? Such minor words had created his blood pressure to rise to the point where the room grew dizzier and dizzier until all he could do to stop the constant flow of tears from escaping his eyes was to close his eyes and think back....back to whenever he still protected himself from this ever happening..........

* * *

How do you guys like the foreshadowing hurr? ^-^ I orginally didn't know how to start this off, so I just decided to write whatever I was inspired with first to-- oh shit; I haven't introduced myself yet! D: So rude of me to just mosey on in here and not introduce myself to a new fandom I happen to like...I am rockshocka4223. I've been a fan of wrestling for years now, but the problem is that since that wrestling has just gotten so....so....juvenile lately....I've gotten to where all my original reasons for watching the shows are gone and now they're replaced with rather irrational fangirl tendencies. D: Does that make any sense? I hope it does....and I've gone into rambling; I do apologize greatly. XD ANYWAY!! Back onto more important notes: This is my first slash fic for this fandom I'll be writing, so please bear with me on a few things. This was only the prolouge, so the shortness of the chapter was meant. Although, this story may possibly progress a little slowly in terms of pairings. Just to warn you guys before hand. Sorry! D: Anyway, despite this being a very, very, very, VERY short chapter, I hoped you guys enjoyed it enough to continue reading! :) I now shut up. XD


	2. Chapter 1: The Great Race

Pairings thus far:** Again, none yet. But I did put a warning in the prologue about the story progression being a little slow, so we're good. :)  
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

**Parma, Ohio 1990**

Two words: Spring Fever. Yes, oh yes, the fever was abrupt throughout the entire suburb as children ran about playing like a colony of frantic bees, teenagers were out taking walks while talking about nothing in particular with their girlfriends or boyfriends, and adults were out enjoying the beautiful day away from work for the day. The temperature was estimated at about 83 degrees and the breeze whistled at a steady rhythm as the fresh air seemed to only grow seemingly more clear every hour. To put it into simpler terms, the day was fantastic. Probably the best so far out of the year. And little Mikey Mizanin wasn't about to pass it up.

He had heard the calls from outside his living room window coming from his two bestest friends ever, Bobby James and Mitchell Adams, and he knew immediately that they wanted him to come out and enjoy the day with them as they always did on such a beautiful day; he wasn't about to change that pattern. Besides, all he was doing before that was watching the static on his television crackle as his mother stood perfectly still over the kitchen sink, waiting for her husband to return home from work. The 10 year-old quickly dropped to his bottom and practically threw his shoes onto his feet and tied them. Today had been the day that Bobby had gotten himself a new basketball after saving money up from selling lemonade with his sister and Mikey was pumped to be allowed to try it out with him.

"'ay Mikey! Come _on_!" The little boy finished tightening his laces on last time and made his way over to the window. "I'm coming, I'm coming!" The boy repeated these words over and over again as he made his way quickly towards the door, but was unsuccessful in making it outside without bumping his head against the wall of the kitchen on the way out. He held his forehead gently while only letting out an embarrassed "Owww..." noise as he continued his journey to the front door of his small, suburban household.

Once he made it to the door, he turned around to his left to see his mother looking sullenly outside the small, rectangular window above the kitchen sink. Even though he was young, Mikey knew what was bothering her; he'd always known ever since it all started happening. His father had been staying out all day and almost all night for the past week and has almost always come home reeking of vodka, sweat, and blood. There was even one instance when he had come home from work at 3:00 A.M with his suit jacket ripped on one side and the smell of Vaseline coming off of his clothes. Even though it was painfully obvious that he had been going out to bars with his buddies, getting shitfaced, violent, and horny every day of the week so far, he always retaliated to his wife's accusations with insults and flying fists. He even attempted to hit Mikey once before, but he caught himself in the act and stopped himself before he could actually do it.

Mikey released a silent sigh before walking outside of his front door. And in the instant that the shining sun hit the young lad's mug, his happiness and anticipation from before came back to him as he looked forward to see his pals motioning for him to follow. Mitch had short, blond hair that went just a little over his shoulders with a superb set of emerald green eyes that matched his green t-shirt. The expression he always sported on his face was that of what any child with a mind of a million ideas would have. Bobby, on the other hand, was a paler young lad with dark brown eyes and jet black hair that just barely touched the bottom of his ears. His face was always that of a stern, future leader with a no-nonsense state of mind. He was, needless to say, the leader of the trio.

"It's about time, slowpoke! C'mon, Bobby brought his new ball with him and the court is empty right now. Let's go!" The three boys headed west onto the local basketball courtyard. You'd figure it would be a completely horrible to let three young boys go off by themselves in the middle of the day where some sick bastard could easily just pick them up and have his way with them, but not in Parma. This suburb was ranked amongst the very few cities to be considered a "safe" place to live. Many people from outside the place scratched their heads trying to figure out how the largest suburb in all of the area of Cleveland was so secluded from criminals. One reason might've been since the area was predominately white; meaning that the rate of racial hate crimes would be at an all time low. However, it's also noted that a lot of the people in Parma (or at least where Mikey lived) were not only bad racists, but hardcore homophobes with old values in life.

Like how blacks are inferior to whites, how blacks are so much lazier than anybody else, how a man should only love a woman, how marriage isn't for fags, and how children can't come to life through homosexuality...you get the point. Mikey's parents fit this description perfectly. He always heard his parents whenever they watched the news together and some report about a gay bashing and how his father would always praise the bashers for "cleaning up the streets of all of them faggots" and how much it made him glad that he had his family and he wouldn't know what to do if he ever found out anybody in his family was gay. "I tell you what," he'd start off with, "I'mma raise my boy to never trust those dirty slugs; they'll only corrupt him with their talk of "equality" and "pride" they seem to just flaunt all over the place. Next thing I'd know, I'd be seeing my only son dancing in assless chaps with boys kissing him while terrible pop noises I keep hearing everyday on the radio play throughout the entire town." Mikey didn't quite know what assless chaps were, so he couldn't really understand much of what his father hated.

Along the way, Mikey looked over at Mitch and offered up a challenge for the trip. "Hey Mitchy, 'bet you can't make it to the court before I do." Mitch scoffed playfully at his friend and retorted with, "Really? You're so ON!" The three boys stopped in their tracks as Mikey and Mitch both bent down to the track runner position side by side. Bobby rolled his eyes and moaned at an irritably loud volume. "Why can't we just go to the stinkin' court without a competition? You two do this _every_ time we go anywhere!"

Mikey piped up with a cheerful, "Because you're a sourpuss, Bobby McPartypooper." Mitch couldn't help but laugh at his friend's remark as Bobby just crossed his arms against his chest. "Hmph! I may not even let you play with my ball if you're going to be an ass, Mikey." The two boys gasped at their friend's outburst and they returned to their original positions standing. They both cupped their mouths shut with their palms.

"You just said a curse, Bobby..." The darker haired boy just shrugged blandly. Mitch then threw his right hand on Bobby's shoulder and began to shake him. "We aren't supposed to say that word, Bobby!" Mikey grabbed Mitch by his shoulders and pulled him back. "Yeah, my dad always says that people that say that word go to Heck and burn with Satan...is Bobby going to burn in Heck now?"

Bobby just threw his palm into his forehead at his two friends' immaturity. "Geez, you two act like two little six year-olds..." Bobby looked ahead of where the three boys were originally headed for and looked back at the two slightly younger boys. "I'll race you guys to the court. I get a two second head start riiiight....NOW!" And with that statement being said, the brunette darted off while still holding on to his new basketball as the two younger boys looked at each other in surprise. "Hey, get back here you little twerp!"

The three boys sprinted after each other, laughing joyfully all along the way as no day ever had a fill of loneliness amongst itself. The air was fine, the roads were actually calm, and the people had no troubles on their minds. It was one of those days that the youngsters had that overwhelming feeling of zealousness and a power outlet worth of electricity surging within their veins. Anything at the faintest sign of triggering that cannonball worth of energy was used to only fire them up more. The boys were even greeted with the opening riff to "Kickstart my Heart" by Mötley Crüe as they passed a large group of teenagers listening to a rather large boom-box while loitering about the parking lot of the local food market. Needless to say that the blood boiling grew at that point.

"Y-You're so going down!" Mikey looked over at his friend-slash-competitor and shot him a cocky grin. "Really? 'Cuz I'm already winning!" Bobby glanced over at both of the laughing boys and shouted ou the only thing he could possibly think of that would slow them both down: "Chicken butt!" Upon this random outburst, Mitch and Mikey both stopped dead in their tracks as Bobby ran right past them about five more feet and met with the basketball court.

Bobby, being Mister Stout Kid of the 1990s, just haha'ed over his win as his two friends scolded him thoroughly. "Hey, you cheated!" The brunette gently set his ball to the ground, crossed his arms and jerked his head to the side. "Not my fault you're both lame racers." Mitch just bit his lip as Mikey threw himself onto the pavement, muttering words of frustration. "You no good, dirty cheater..." Bobby finally had to let out a playful chuckle as he stepped over to his fallen friend and bent down to face him. "Learn my ways and you'll make it far, my friend." Of course, Mikey didn't know at the time that he would eventually grow up to act just like Bobby with a huge crowd of people watching him.

Bobby stood up and stepped back over to his ball. He swooped the ball up and bounced it repetitively off the ground. "So...," started the sore winner, "wanna try beating me again?" The two boys swished back to their game faces and let out a simultaneous, "YOU'RE ON!"

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Wahh, I don't have any reviews yet. :( Oh well; I'll keep chugging along for anybody interested. :) Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed! And don't worry, these flashbacks will are be worth it once the story finally starts progressing! :D


	3. Chapter 2: Toy Soldiers

**Pairings thus far:**** They will be coming sooner than you think! :D  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------**

Isn't it amazing that no matter how tired you are after a long day of doing work, school or employed, your energy levels are never at the same peak as a child's? You can put a teenager (or adult--whatever seems to be the most correct statement) and a child in a house together, doing the same exact things all day long, and the child will _always_ have the most energy by the end of the day. Why is that? Because children need that energy to motivate them into learning new things about life; you can't fully learn things when you're being all sluggish! Children are entitled to being constantly on the go for the simple fact that their minds wonder and they want to be enlightened to the outside world just as much as everyone else is. They want to frolic, play, and have an all-around blast in their lives. You know, _those_ days that older kids and adults miss so much.

The day was settling in a little further as the three boys played, and played, and _played_ their little socks off for hours on end. No actual games have been played, but the score was being kept tallied within the compounds of the three youngsters' brains. Bobby was in the lead with a whooping score of 56, Mikey was just barely in second with a close 54, and Mitchell was the current underdog with a total of 42 points. Mitch was in control of the ball for the time being and bounced the ball with his steps as he tried to make the shot that would give him his two score points, thus causing him to be closer to catching up with his two buddies. Bobby was behind the younger boy trying to stop him and Mikey kept getting shoved off by the older boy.

"Whatcha got, Mitchy?! Huh? Whatcha got?!" Mikey tried to reach for the ball, but he still resulted in failure as Bobby continued to taunt Mitch while shoving off the dirty blond haired boy. "Whatcha got?!" Mitch continued to dribble the ball as he started getting closer to the hoop. Bobby and Mikey stayed on his tail, but stalled right as Mitch leaped up for the hoop and dropped the ball through the net. "OOOOOOOooooh!" Mitch grabbed the ball back from the ground and slammed it against the cement ground in celebration.

Mikey and Bobby took advantage of Mitch's blind score and ran for the ball. Bobby grabbed it first and ran for the hoop while bouncing the ball at the same pace as his feet. Mikey followed him with intention and positioned himself at the ready. Bobby leaped upward in attempt to bring his score up from 56 to 58, but Mikey had simultaneously leaped upward and blocked him. "Hey!" Mikey now had control of the ball and leaped upward for the shot. He successfully made the shot and mimicked Mitch's victory screech immediately afterward.

"OOOOOOOooooh! In 'yo _faces_!" Bobby smirked at the boy and motioned his right hand along with his next words. "Wanna eat those words, dorkbait? You and me. We finish this once and for all." Mikey's smile grew as he nodded obediently. "I'm game, sore loser."

Mitch clapped his forehead rather formally as he reluctantly walked over to the sidelines. "Not again..." He continued to mutter random words of defeat to himself as the other two boys positioned themselves at the ready. Mikey stood directly in front of Bobby, bouncing the dark orange ball up and down with his left palm. Their eyes focused solely on each other as Mikey slowly began to shift backwards for the hoop.

Mitch watched with a fair amount of anticipation in his eyes as he quietly mouthed out the countdown. _"3........2........1.....zer-" _His last word was cut off by the abrupt sound of Mikey galloping over to the hoop with Bobby steadily on his tail. The ball continued to bounce with the movement of Mikey's motion as he grew closer and closer to his final goal. Bobby tried everything he could to somehow screw up Mikey's shot, but he was too late whenever the younger boy leaped upward for a second time in a row and dropped the ball through the red circle.

The final score was now Mikey: 58, Bobby: 56, and Mitch: 44. The game was over; Mikey had found victory at the last second. Mitch clapped and Bobby stomped on the ground angrily as Mikey hopped up and down in celebration. "Woo! Oh yeah! I'm the man! OH YEAH!!" The boy stopped hopping long enough for him to bring out his "Macho Man" Randy Savage impersonation.

"Looks like you just got SERRRRVED, Bobby James! _Ooh yeeeeeeeeeah_!" The Randy Savage impersonator proceeded in flexing his "arm muscles" at his friends. Bobby rolled his eyes and turned away and Mitch piped in with a Hulk Hogan impersonation. "Listen, brother: the Hulkster already beat you down at the WWF Main Event! You wanted the Hulkster's title and the Hulkster showed you who the real champion was. So, whatcha gonna do, brother!? Whatcha gonna do?!" The two boys started "flexing" at each other for a maybe a minute in a half until they play tackled each other and continued to roll around on the ground laughing.

The older boy scowled at the two younger boys and cocked his head to this side. "You two are the most _retarded_ twerps I ever have seen." The two fireballs of energy fell back and layed side by side, still giggling childishly. After the two boys had calmed down a tick, they started staring at the darkening sky with wonder in their young minds. "Man...those two must have it made, huh?"

Mikey glanced cluelessly over at his friend and replied with a simple, "Huh? Who?" Mitch took a small glance over at Mikey and responded with, "You know, Hulk Hogan and Macho Man." Mikey opened his mouth in the "O" shape and nodded informally. He then resumed staring at the sky and said, "They sure have....although..." Bobby's eyes wonder over to his lying friends and he finally decided to take part in the conversation.

"Although what?" Mikey's lips formed a side smirk. "Although...I do wonder what it would be like to..well..._be_ Hulk Hogan or Macho Man. You know, to have the spotlight on you...with thousands of people screaming your name...signing autographs...having your picture taken....having your name in bold letters in the paper as a local hero....that would be so awesome." The 10 year-old's smirk morphed into an actual smile as he continued his statement. "I'd like to live a life like that one day."

Bobby sighed disapprovingly at the child full of dreams. "Mikey, you know that all those guys are nothing than glory hogs, right? They can't even wrestle to save their lives! No talent at all, in my opinion. They don't actually care about the fans or anything...just the money they make in their back pockets." Mikey's hopeful smile turned into a disappointed frown as he shook his head slowly. "They can't _all_ be, though...they just _can't_ be." And with that being said, the boy got to his feet and turned to his friends, speaking in a melancholy voice, "It's getting late; mom might get worried if I'm gone too long."

Mitch jumped to his feet and added in, "Yeah, me too. It also doesn't help that dad's already threatened to ground me four times already for staying with you guys for too long." Bobby bowed his head in laughter. "Heheheh...don't you worry; I'm technically already grounded. My mom might whomp me later, but I'll doubt she'll even be home." As sad as it was, it was true; Bobby's mother was a drunk whose husband had left her after Bobby was born and, since then, has done next to nothing to help raise Bobby other than now and then attending parent/teacher meetings completely wasted off her ass. His grandmother was the one stuck looking after him.

The boys eventually said their goodbyes and headed their separate ways. Bobby went on northward, and Mitch and Mikey walked down east together since they lived closer together. The path home was rather on the silent side for a while as Mitch kept tapping his sides with his fingers and Mikey stared at the ground. Mitch finally caved in and looked over at his friend. "You know Bobby didn't mean it, right?"

Mikey lifted his head and turned his head to view his friend. After Mikey's attention was on him, Mitch added in, "Even if he did mean it, you know how Bobby is." Mikey attempted a smile, but only succeeded with a right smirk. " I know." Mikey turned his head back forward and look up at the sky. He sighed heavily. "I know..."

The two eventually made it to Mitch's house and left Mikey to walk alone. The dark blond had resumed his duty of staring at the ground as he made his way slowly to the place he had called home. His mind did the only thing it was best at doing at such a young age and it wondered about a million little things at once. But, it mainly stayed on the discussion with Bobby. He was wrong; Mikey'd prove him that he was wrong.

He'd be talented, he'd be nice to his fans and sign their autographs....he'd prove Bobby wrong. He swore that day he would. Mikey didn't know how long it would take, but he intended to keep his promise. One day, people would know the name "Michael Mizanin" and they wouldn't just blindly worship him like he was some kind of god. He'd be the one that, even if he entered wrestling as a heel, he'd still give his fans the truly loving and caring notions that all humans deserved outside of the ring.

Finally, after having his mind wonder aimlessly towards a wayward dream, Mikey had arrived to his house and inched towards his door. But, to his shock and horror, the first noise he had heard behind the door was the sound of glass breaking and mindless screaming. _"You sonuvabitch! How could you do this to us?!" _Mikey's eyes widened as he stood perfectly still behind the door, listening to his parents fighting once again.

_"Get off me, you stupid bitch!"_

_"How many sluts have you fucked, huh? How fucking many?!"_

The sound of another broken item made the boy cringe.

_"How would you fucking know if I fucked anybody? It isn't like you've gotten my rocks off in a while!"_

_"You selfish pig! That's what this has been all about?! HUH?! You're fucking random whores just because I never give you any?! Is that it?"_

_"I'm NOT fucking anybody, goddammit!!"_

Yet another broken item sounded and Mikey swore he even heard the sound of the bookshelf being thrown onto the floor.

_"I SAID get off of me, you stupid cunt!!"_

_"Not until you explain to me why you can't just love me as I am and not just base everything off your fucking cock's wants!"_

_"Because you can't fucking cook me a decent meal in time! I work my ass off all day long and I come home to what? NOTHING!! Speaking of, why don't you get your saddle bags back into the goddamn kitchen and make me my dinner!?"_

_"No!"_

The final noise Mikey heard frightened him the most; the sound of a loud slap followed by the boy's mother yelping in pain. It wasn't the first time his father had ever hit his mom, but it didn't mean that it didn't scare poor little Mikey whenever he had to hear them fighting. It still caused him to run for the door, but before he could open it, his father had come storming out of the house, reeking of vodka. The bloodshot man took a quick look at his son and spat out, "Go away, boy. You won't amount to anything anyway!" After his venomous words, he turned back and staggered outward to his beige and brown '85 Jeep Wagoneer parked at the side of the house. He fumbled with the door handle for about 10 seconds before he finally managed to open the door, but he ended up throwing up all over the passenger seat before passing out in the car.

After his father's little scene, Mikey rushed into the house to see that not only was half of the house inside destroyed, but his mother had a swollen left eyeball, a bloody nose, and tears streaming down her face. The expression on the woman's face only persuaded the boy himself start crying with her. "Mommy.....w-why did dad hurt you?" The sound of the word "Mommy" leaving her son's mouth caused her to cry harder than she already was; the only time Mikey ever called her "Mommy" was whenever he was just overwhelmingly terrified of something to the point of weeks without sleep and possible therapy. The woman gently wrapped her arms around her son as he wrapped his own arms around and tightened them hard as she bawled into her son's chest.

"H-h-he....h-heee....h-he...-" She couldn't continue to give her son some kind of sugarcoated story like she always had, so the only thing to leave her mouth afterwards was muffled sobs. Mikey also broke and pushed his face against the top of his mother's head to muffle his own sobs. The only thing that was heard in the background along with their slowly quieting crys was the sound of wires popping in the broken television and the faint noise of the radio in the kitchen.

_"It wasn't my intention to mislead you, it never should have beeeeen this waaaaaaay..."_

Mrs. Mizanin finally pulled her face away from her son's chest and wiped her eyes with her fingers. She then proceeded to wipe her own son's eyes the same way. She let herself form a very small smile. "You're such a beautiful boy...so much possibility for you one day....such a sweet young boy, too...I have faith you'll never hurt anybody intentionally. But Mikey, please...don't _ever_ let anybody hurt you. Don't ever let somebody you love control you l-like you're some kind of dog...promise me, please." The boy put joined his hands with his mother's and looked her in the eyes and said in as calm of voice as he could:

"I promise...I swear I won't ever hurt anybody."

The woman gave her son another big hug that seemed to have lasted the entire night. The boy once wrapped his own arms around his mother's torso and placed his head on her shoulder. Then, all of a sudden, a random fear came across the youngster's head. "Mommy?" The woman looked up at the boy again. "Yes, sweetie?"

"You aren't going to become a drunk like Bobby's mom...are you?" The woman shook her head slowly. "No, son. I wouldn't ever sink that low as a mother _or_ a person." This caused the boy to smile once more and nod. "Just making sure."

About three months after that night, Mikey's parents finalized their divorce and his dad moved out of the house for good. He was allowed visitation rights for Mikey as long as he participated in a support group for alcoholics and sobered himself up. He did just that. Over the next few years, Mikey and his mother grew closer and closer than ever before; even after she remarried. Mikey wasn't a very big fan of his new step-dad, but he learned to like him just a bit over some time.

Michael supposed that he could then skip forward to the memory of his high school years, but that would take too long and time was limited as he stood alone in that 4-sided ring. So he decided to skip forward to the very memory that caused his future downfall...the very memory that reminded him every single day of what his life would have in store for him for the rest of his days. You would've figured that this very memory would've been in his high school years, but Mikey was a late bloomer for some things. But until all of that happened, he just stood in the broken house of his childhood with his mother, listening to the radio.

_"Bit by bit...torn apart...we never win but the baaaaaaaaaatle wages oooooooon for toy soldierrrrrrs..."_

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
I'm so sorry for the extremely long chapter! D: But hey, it still makes up for almost a week with an update, right? Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed this and thanks to **Bourtonfreak13 **for reviewing! :D


	4. Chapter 3: Self Evaluation

**Pairings so far:**** There is some mentionings of hetero-pairing in this chapter, but it isn't anything extreme. Sorry! D: Luckily, this story isn't going to be another one of those plainly blunt "Beautiful and perfect OC girl comes from troubled life and gets the hott wrestler guy" kind of stories. Once you read this chapter and reach the end, you'll be reminded of that statement. *evil gremlin laughter*  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

**Miami University, Ohio 1999**

_The pretty, blond girl finally opened her dorm room's door and looked up at her boyfriend. She gave him a weak smile and spoke in a quiet voice. "Hello, Mike." He attempted to smile back as he faced the 19 year-old with his light blue eyes of his, but failed as he started up his intention of seeing her. "Hey, Kari...umm....do you have a minute? We need to talk." Her smile faded and she leaned up against the wall leading to her doorway. "Sure, we can talk." _

_For a while, the awkward silence was the only thing conversating between the two sophomores. Finally, Karissa broke the silence. "Mike...what happened last night? All I asked was that you try, you know, acting more like a boyfriend and let me into your heart. We've been a couple for three months and the farthest we've ever gone is kiss with no tongue. Is there something wrong with me? Is that why you can't open up to me?" The young man shook his head slowly. "No, Kari...it's nothing wrong with you...it's something wrong with me. To tell you the truth, I was a little skeptical about us even getting together in the first place and I know for a fact that you were, too."_

_The young woman bowed her head in slight shame and nodded as Mikey continued. "And, well....I guess I'm just not ready for a girlfriend right now. You're a pretty girl, you really are...but I just can't see myself with you that way. It's nothing against you at all; it's just me not being very proud of some of the things I have to think about. I'm sorry, but I think we should call off our title as boyfriend and girlfriend and just stick as friends." He paused for a minute and then asked, "I-is that okay? I'm so, so sorry...I really don't want to hurt you--I really don't. I'm sorry..." The girl formed a smile on her face and placed her left hand on her ex's shoulder. She then proceeded in lightly giggling. "Relax, man. It's totally okay; once I think about it, I don't think we would've been a very good couple anyway. I see you as more of a best friend than anything else. So, really, it's alright. You don't need to apologize."_

_The young adult now felt an urge to smile at his friend. "You're sure? You're still my best friend, you know." Now the female sophomore laughed legitimately and nodded. "It's alright, dude. After all, no matter what, you're still going to be the little twerp that I call my bestest buddy ever!" Mikey laughed along with her and fake punched her arm. "Heey!" She grinned as she punched him back. So then everything was anew and everything was sorted out for the better, but it was still only a minor victory since Mikey hadn't even given her the true reason why he broke it off..._

This very scene played over and over again in Mikey's head for about two hours after it had actually happened, haunting the young man's temples as he lied on his back on the bed he slept on in the fraternity room he shared with his old childhood buddy, Mitchell. He listened to his own words and tried to privately evaluate them thoroughly. _"Hey, Kari...umm....do you have a minute? We need to talk." _Mikey hadn't exactly dated anyone at all whenever he was a student in high school, so after being badgered by his buddies enough times, he finally decided to ask his good friend Karissa Long out as his girl and she accepted. The couple didn't exactly act much like a couple at all, but more like close friends. In fact, they hadn't even done really anything physically romantic at all in the three months they stayed together rather than touching lips.

_"No, Kari...it's nothing wrong with you...it's something wrong with me." _It was only the previous night when Karissa finally decided to try convincing Michael to maybe try opening up to her more as a boyfriend rather than just a friend...unfortunately, Mikey found himself extremely uncomfortable with the request and left for his fraternity room right after she was done trying to coax him into doing things he didn't want to do. He thought he could do it, he thought he would've wanted it...but he was wrong. He couldn't do it nor did he want to. So there were no words to describe just how correct those words were to Michael. The only question was: Why him? Why did it have to be _him_ with the problem?

"_I was a little skeptical about us even getting together in the first place and I know for a fact that you were, too." _This statement was also correct. The two friends just wanted to stay friends and nothing more for the most part, but Mikey let his other friends get to him and he decided to make it something more with Karissa. He didn't exactly have any romantic feelings for her at all, but he figured that maybe he could learn to in the long run. At least, that's what he wanted to happen. But, again, life always found a way to kick him in the ass somehow and he found himself completely incapable of doing so.

_"And, well....I guess I'm just not ready for a girlfriend right now." _Was this really the problem? That he just didn't want a girlfriend for the time being? Really? So why was it that whenever he asked himself this question, the word "liar" always popped into his head?

"_You're a pretty girl, you really are...but I just can't see myself with you that way." _Karissa wasn't exactly "beautiful" or anything, but Michael certainly wasn't lying when he said that she was pretty. She had gorgeous forest green eyes, nice plump lips, and sunset blond hair. She was a pretty girl, yes, but Mikey didn't find anything electrifying about her appearance. He just couldn't find himself to be sexually attracted to her or anything...why was that?

"_It's nothing against you at all; it's just me not being very proud of some of the things I have to think about." _This was it. This was the story of Michael Mizanin's life right here. This is the story that even haunted him in the future after his college years. Michael had some problems that he'd basically pull his own hair out trying to figure out why those problems were there and what possessed the creators of life to give those problems to him. And why it was strong enough to create this sentence of his: _"I'm sorry, but I think we should call off our title as boyfriend and girlfriend and just stick as friends."_

They say that college is supposed to be a great time for self discovery. Many young adults discover all they need to know about themselves in this time period. Why is that? Well...it's most often theorized that the reason is because the people are not only in an educational atmosphere, but also one of spiritual enlightenment. People go to college to learn more about the careers they want and it's common knowledge that once a person's mind opens far enough, they finally see things that were always there, but never noticeable. But not all discoveries are things they actually wanted to know.

Michael had been confused his entire life and he thought college would make things more clear for him. Well, he was correct for the most part...it was just that he still wonder exactly _why_ it had to be _that_ discovery rather than something else. It was something that had always wondered his mind in high school, but it never became fully clear to him until he reached his fraternity days. Even at the moment that he spent lying on top of his bed, he still wasn't fully sure what was wrong with him. It wouldn't be until later that same day that he would fully understand what was wrong with him...

Suddenly, a quick knocked was heard on his door. Mikey lifted his head upward, groaning faintly. "Come in." The door opened casually and Mitch made his way into the room. Mitchell hadn't really changed a lot from whenever he was ten; the only changes on him was that his voice had deepened, his facial structure had matured, and his hair had grown longer. Other than that, he was still same Mitchy from all those years ago that was always there for Mikey whenever he needed a friend the most.

Mitch took a quick look at his friend's face and immediately knew that something was bothering him, so he did what he always did and tried to lighten the mood. The slightly younger male flashed Mikey a big grin and said, "I wanted to make sure you weren't masturbating or anything, so I knocked." The comical comment made the confused young man smile just enough to laugh at the words said. "If you ever walked in on me touching myself, I'd take the full glory in shooting my load in your eye sockets; maybe you'd be better off blind. Not to mention the look of bloodshot would suit you perfectly." Mitchell chuckled and shook his finger at his buddy. "Nah, those are the words I said to your girlfriend before she got on her knees."

"Ah, you mean the same time I had _your_ girlfriend face first over a table with no pants on?" Mitchell pointed at Mikey and said, "Watch it there, buddy." At this, the two childhood friends broke out into laughter as the knocked their knuckles together. Once the laughter stopped, Mitchell took a seat next to Mikey on his bed. "So tell me, Michael...why the long face before I made a funny for you?"

Mikey curled his lip a little and replied with, "I broke up with Karissa." Mitchell's eyes widened a bit. "You left her? Why? I thought you two were happy together." Michael sighed and shook his head. "I don't know why, dude. I guess I just didn't see her as a girlfriend very much."

Mitch sighed and placed his hand on his friend's right shoulder. "It'll be alright, man. There's other girls out there that you eventually will see as girlfriend material. You'll find her one day." Michael threw on a fake smile for his friend's sake and put in, "I really hope so....I'm sure I will one day." Mitchy smiled and patted Mike's shoulder. "Thatta boy. That's the spirit!"

Mike only let out a fake chuckle for the sake of hopefully changing the subject with his friend. "So...any word on Bobby?" Mitch's smile faded away and he sighed. "I saw him in the locker room for the football jockeys. He had tied some band around his left arm and held an injection needle in his opposite hand....that's all I needed to see before I stormed off elsewhere." Mikey's spirits fell even lower as he bowed his head. "Oh my god...poor, poor Bobby..."

The two young men had suspected that Bobby had been on some heavy drugs for the past month or so. He grew paler everyday, his eyes were always bloodshot, and he had stopped talking to the two men altogether and whenever he did talk to them, he would always lash out at them for them most minor of things. And the only times Mitch and Mike ever saw Bobby was either whenever he was hitting on some drunken broad at a party or whenever he was cursing at one of the college professors for trying to get him to go to class. Mikey suspected that he might've even been dealing drugs as well because he had spotted an entire wad of cash consisting of several one hundred dollar bills on his dresser the one time he had been in Bobby's room after he'd been kicked out of the fraternity building for being rather unbearable around the other guys. And Mitchell, currently majoring in Psychology, believed that since Bobby had had a very harsh childhood, there might've not been any hope for the young man to sober himself up any.

The room was silent for some time as the two young men thought privately of their former childhood friend's condition. Finally, after a while, Mitchell spoke again. "But, on a lighter note...I have some news on Brianna." Brianna Baxter was Mitchell's girlfriend of two years. They met during senior year of Normandy whenever she had moved from Chicago with her father, who had just remarried a woman from Cleveland.

Mikey looked up at his friend. "Yeah? So you know why she's been acting so weird around you lately?" Just picture the brightness of a car with it's high beams on and you'll know how bright of a smile that Mitchell had on his face after his best friend asked him the question. He nodded like an excited dog and almost shrieked out, "She's pregnant!!" Mikey's own face had to light up after that and he flashed his friend an open smile. "Wow, man! Holy....w-wow! Congratulations, man!"

Mitchell clapped his hands once and wiggled in his sitting position a bit. "I know, man! I'm so excited to become a father. I even have a plan for the baby, too! See, I'll probably move out of the fraternity after a while and buy a house on campus with her a-and then there will be a wedding! Yes, and guess whose going to be my best man?" Mikey looked up and positioned his eyes in the "thinking" appearance. "Hmm....the fat guy that always steals your during lunch?" Mitchell swung his head and said, "_No! _You are, man. You're my best friend and you always have been. You haven't bailed like Bobby did and, well...I've grown to know that you're the absolute greatest guy I've ever known."

Michael felt his cheeks burn and he bowed his head down again. "Oh...you don't mean that, man." Mitchell smiled shyly at the older student. "I do mean it. Next to Brianna and this baby, you're like the most important person in my life right now. I don't know what I'd ever do if something ever happened to you, bro." The still pink faced man looked up at his friend and gave him a friendly hug. "I'd be honored to be your best man, Mitchy."

He let go of the hug quickly afterwards and Mitch raised up his wrist to check his wristwatch. "Shit, I need to go soon. Bri wanted me to help study for her Biology exam. See ya, best man!" And with that, the young man rushed his way outside the door, closing it upon leaving. So once again, Michael was alone in the room. He sighed and resumed his original position of lying on top of his bed.

Now he had even more on his mind than he did before, with Bobby being on drugs and Mitchell's family life growing...Mikey was just stuck in a rut that he couldn't get out of. One friend had everything going downhill, the other had everything shining for him, and Mikey himself had nothing but countless questions always running in his head. He didn't know what to do with Bobby other than try intervening with him and as for Mitch...he couldn't help but envy the guy. He was happy for him with the baby and all, but Mike couldn't help but feel an empty void in his heart at the same time. Like he somehow _knew_ that he'd never be able to have a child of his own.

Even though he questioned why he felt that way, he eventually found out that same night exactly _why_ those feelings were within him...

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
CLIFFHANGER TIME!!! :D *has a bunch of rocks thrown at me* Heey....I apologize! XD Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! And I give thanks to **JayJayJigsaw** and **Bourtonfreak13** for reviewing. :3


	5. Chapter 4: Party Time!

**Pairings thus far: Minor mentionings of (ended) Miz/OC(f)**

**As I said before, I deeply apologize for the rather slow story progression thus far, but I promise you that it will be all worth it once the story progresses enough through on out! And I PROMISE that it won't just be a bunch of OC pairings throughout the entire story! Like I said, the progression will start off slow since it's "starting from the beginning" of the story of our lovely main character, but then it'll get down to the point and on to actual character pairings eventually. :D...GAH! Me and my stupid rambling! DX *clears throat* ANYWAY....onward! *marches forward*  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------**

It was now 11:38 in the evening. Music was blasting at the volume of a NASA space shuttle taking off and people all over were going crazy, getting drunk, and getting laid in random rooms of the Theta Chi Fraternity house. Mikey had originally planned to stay home-bound in his own room and study for his big exam in Economic Finances (one of the classes required for his majoring path in Business), but that plan was eventually torn to shreds whenever Kevin Williams and Benjamin Bundy, the two dickfaces of the fraternity, drug him by his black T-shirt's collar all the way downstairs and slung a glass of beer in his hand. Mikey didn't really plan on getting too tipsy since the fact remained that he still had a very important test that he hadn't exactly gotten to study for, but there wasn't anything wrong with downing at least a couple of Budweisers, right? Hell, he'd even down four or five if he was dared to!

It was common knowledge to anybody who knew Mikey that he absolutely _loved_ to party. It was the only time that he could get away from the pressures of everyday life and just kick back and have some fun. With so many things constantly tormenting his mind, he just wanted to be released. So it was perfectly normal for Mikey to get drastically drunk and then wake up with a terrible headache in the morning. Way of life is to have fun, right?

Of course, getting drunk wasn't exactly an option for tonight. Instead, he got his rush by watching his best friend and daddy to be, Mitchell, go into a drinking contest with the local fatass, Trevor Bolmer. The challenge was who could down an entire bottle of Keystone first. So far, Trevor was about halfway through his bottle and Mitchell was slightly behind, but catching up. Mitchell was slapping the wooden bar table hard as Trevor looked about like he was about to upchuck the ingredients inhaled within his stomach.

Mitch began to slap the table even harder whenever Trevor showed signs of wimping out. "Go! Go! Go! Go! Go! Go--" At that moment, Trevor dropped his bottle and made a dash for the nearest bathroom. "Ugh god!" Almost immediately after Trevor had run off, Mitchell slammed his bottle so hard against the wooden table that the glass of the half point of the beverage's container shattered into at least ten or eleven different glass shards.

The uproar was astounding! "WHOOOOOOOOOOO! Yeah, Mitchy! You the man!" Mitchell started hopping up and own and Mikey, Kevin, and Leroy Kingston joined him as they danced to the beat of the random song over the speakers. And whenever the song finally changed to "When Worlds Collide" by Powerman 5000, the entire group of young men began singing loudly along with the lyrics once the chorus came on._ "Are you ready to go - cause I'm ready to go - what you gonna do baby? - babyyy! - are you going with me - cause I'm going with you - it's the end of all TIIIIIIME!"_

Again, more fraternity boy cheers sounded from the rather petite group of young men. They all continued to jump around like a bunch of rowdy young children until the point came when the hopping turned into full out moshing. Kevin jumped on Mikey's back, Mitchell tackled Leroy, and Trevor had come running back and jumped right square in the middle of the mosh pit. Soon after the pit had been created, more guys joined in along with even a couple of the ladies that had crashed the party. After only half of the song had passed, almost the entire party had been moshing in one huge, huge mosh-pit.

_"What is it really when they're falling over..."_

The room's temperature rose astonishingly as sweat flew off the bodies of young adults waiting to caress the world with their grace and integrity.

_"Everything that you thought was deniiiied..."_

The greater than newborn like energy of the building exploded like a million fireworks impacting a small, secluded tent area which would eventually burn to the very tip of its structure.

_"I'm gonna be the one that's takin' over..."_

Like a fireball waiting to skyrocket into the Sun's orbit and heat the even brighter fire to a create an apocalypse of such a colossal amount that not even the Earth's own axis would be able to withstand it. This is what college was truly all about.

_"Now this is what it's like when worlds COLLIIIIDE!"_

"Hey watch it, you fucking prick!" Whenever the final chorus of the song started, everybody had suddenly stopped moshing. It had appeared that the poor, awkwardly skinny Leroy Kingston had accidentally bumped into the uncomfortably buff Bobby James right in the dead center of the room. Everyone's voices died as the anticipation of a brawl began to creep up on the drunken college students. Leroy, who hadn't meant any harm of the sort, slowly backed away from the angry jock.

"T-take it easy, man...I didn't mean to--" It was too late to apologize. Bobby had already suckered punch the young man right in the jaw and proceeded in wailing on him. "FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT..." The two former childhood pals of Bobby's stood in disbelief as they watched Bobby, little Bobby James...the kids who only talked tough but never actually walked that walk, pound on a guy who hadn't done a single thing to him other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And all everyone could do is just stand there like a bunch of morons and watch.

"FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT..." For the most part, at first, Mitchell's full attention had been on his former best friend, who had done everything for just as much as he had for Mikey...but then his attention completely changed whenever he noticed Brianna, the love of his life who had just confirmed herself as pregnant, wearing a pretty pink T-shirt and drinking a 1/2 pint of God knows what. The heart of the young man sank upon this notice; surely she would've known that alcohol was very unhealthy for an unborn fetus! So with that, the fight no longer became relevant within the mind of Mitchell Adams and he left the mob-scene in a terrified rush. Mikey hadn't even noticed he was gone until he turned to his side to try negotiating a plan to stop the fight and have a reasonable talk with the angered former friend of theirs, but was greeted by the loud screams of a short, red-headed girl cheering for the fight.

Mikey cupped his mouth with both of his palms and called out to his old friend as loudly as he could; almost to the point of tearing his throat up. "Bobby! BOBBY! BOBBYYYYY!" But it wasn't any use, for the battle between the one voice of Mikey's and the several hundred of everybody else was just too one-sided of a bout for the young man's liking. Bobby continued to rake his fists into Leroy's face as the smaller man tried his hardest to escape him; clawing at the stronger man with the might of a wild alley cat. But that was just it; the strength of a little kitty wasn't enough to stop the wild heroin addict at work.

So finally, after Mikey had had enough, he rushed his way through the crowd, but only managed to make it to the very front row of the crowd before something stalled him from continuing. Leroy, the poor bastard that was still trying to defend himself, had actually managed to rip Bobby's shirt off whenever the stronger man himself had attempted to grab him by his legs to tackle him. The angry drug lord hadn't even noticed nor cared as he continued to grab the young man's legs. For a drug addict, Bobby had a very nice body on him that Mikey had only seen once or twice before; Michael couldn't help but stare at the better built man's pumped pecks and finely detailed abs as tiny drops of sweat trailed down his chest and created a very glorious shine in the room of drunken college students while his shiny, jet black hair moistened at the hard work of fighting. But the sight really got interesting whenever the smaller young man had actually succeeded in countering the bully's attempts of tackling and somehow managed to tackle him himself.

The more the two boys rolled over each other, the louder the cheers from the watching audience grew. And Mikey, the guy that had originally intended to stop the fight from getting this intense, was stuck in an unusual trap which included him finding himself rather excited to see two men (one shirtless, at that) rolling all over the floor with each other. Surprisingly, this hadn't been the first time Mikey had found himself feeling this particular way around a man before; all throughout Normandy, Michael always found himself stealing a quick peak at some of the naked players on his team whenever they'd be cleaning themselves up in the showers. He always figured that maybe it was just a phase that he'd eventually grow out of, but here he was in his college years still doing it. And the scariest part about it was...Mikey never reacted this way towards two ladies caught in a rather revealing catfight.

After watching the fight go on longer than Mikey had figured he'd watched, the young man finally put his drink down and released himself from his trance once he realized that a rather uncomfortable pressure build underneath his dark blue jeans had been pulsating for some time while watching the two men wrestle around the room, stripping each other slowly before everybody's eyes. _"Not this shit now, please...please? I so hope it's just the alcohol getting to me..."_ Now that Mikey had finally gained control of the situation rather than just the homoeroticness of it, the man rushed further upward until he was about four feet away from his former best friend, who had lifted himself back to his feet along with Leroy so he could break his arms, and extended his arms out. "Bobby!" Leroy noticed Mikey's actions and backed away from Bobby as the young man leaped forward and took the heroin maniac down to the ground and proceeded in pinning him to the floor.

"Ger-off me, you little shit!" Mikey ignored him and proceeded in freeing one of Bobby's hands long enough to smack him clear across the face. "Gagh!" Leroy stood over the two men, wiping his upper lip of the very little blood it had spilled compared to the blood running down his nostrils. Bobby began to try wiggling as hard as he could so he would succeed in breaking away from the younger man, but Mikey had him down hard and refused to let him back up. Michael lifted his head up to catch Leroy's eye and motioned for him to find somewhere safe to go; Leroy did as he was told and headed for his bedroom upstairs.

"God fucking dammit, Mikey! Get OFF me!" Mikey rotated his head to the left and right as he finally replied to the stronger man. "No, you're going to calm down and get the hell out of here!" Bobby suddenly spat a large enough ball of spit in Mikey's face that it caused the young adult to jerk his head to the right. _"Fuck you, Mizanin!"_ the angry man hissed towards the slightly younger man.

The younger man quickly wiped the spit off of his face and turned back to Bobby, releasing his hand yet again to sock the down man in the face again. "Grrgh!" Bobby recoiled from the attack and used all the might in his upper body to push Mikey off of him. "Woa-g!" Mikey quickly returned to his feet and braced himself for Bobby's expected vicious blows that he had released upon Leroy.

"Damn motherfucker..." Bobby stormed forward to the skinnier man and shoved him hard in the sternum. Mikey fell back some, but not too badly. "FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT..." Mikey held out his palms, readying to attack the offender again.

Bobby very well should've attacked the smaller fuck, but he caught a look of the bright, blue eyes of his competitor and stopped. The one thing of Mikey that always distinguished him as himself was the beautiful pair of eyes he had upon him. All a sudden, Mikey was no longer known in Bobby's mind as a villain, but as his old buddy that had been by his side ever since they were small children. Bobby back down and turned around for the exit. "Little faggot bitch..."

The younger man didn't know at the exact time why, but after hearing the final comment from his buddy...his heart fell apart. Why was that? Was it because Bobby had never actually called him that before? Or was it for an even deeper meaning...? Was there something that Mikey's own reaction was trying to tell himself?

Something about the words "Little faggot bitch" just made Mikey's heart sink so low to the point of tears wanting to form, but he just simply refused to let them. Like he had figured just moments ago, perhaps the only real logic behind him feeling so useless after Bobby's hateful words was the combination of Mikey still having a superabundance of friendly love for the heroin addict and the fact that the new 19 year old had had some alcohol just a little while ago. But if that was the reason behind it, why was it that Mikey didn't drink a lot that night and therefore wasn't feeling drunk at all? And what was with the rather sudden hit of ecstasy just moments before him swooped in to save the day? He thought that it was all just a phase that he'd grow out of...but why hadn't he?

Before Mikey's thoughts could shift into yet another long tangent over his life story, his spell was broken by the loud cheering of the hundreds of drunken college students screaming his name. "MIKEY! MIKEY! MIKEY! MIKEY! MIKEY! MIKEY..." Even though the handsome young man knew perfectly well that everybody in the room was hammered to hell, he still could help but smile and maybe even blush a little bit at the ovation. Something about where he was standing...in front a many people who had just seen him win a fight...it felt right. It felt like home to him...like this wouldn't be the first time this ever happened to him.

Now, as everybody may know, it's typical for a male to get a little cocky over his work's successful doing and, even though Mikey's personal persona wasn't exactly one of conceitedness, that moment of him standing in front of the wild students just made something in his head click. An enormous feeling of dynamism just swooped down upon him and the demeanor that was Michael Mizanin seemed to have shifted into something else, something more...powerful. His eyes curved into smiley-eyed look and he gave the crowd a cocky grin. Then, he quickly swooped his upper half downward and held out his arms to be almost evenly parallel amongst each other. His hands stiffened out so his palms were completely shown as he bent his wrists downward. Then, he lifted himself up slowly, arms and hands still in the same position as the wily eyed Mizanin just continued to grin narcissistically.

The crowd went wild. The guys gladly copied Mike's movements and the ladies screamed their lungs out. "We love you, Mikey! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAW!" Still smiling, the young man finally dropped his arms to his sides. He looked around the room for a short second and lifted his arms slantingly over him. And, at that moment, words popped into his head...the first time these words ever existed within the mind of innocent Michael Mizanin.

_"Stand up and bow down to The Miz, bitch."_

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
I know that I still haven't given a full explanation of the cliff hanger in the last chapter yet, but trust me; it's coming. More than likely in the next chapter, too. :D Maaaan....I feel like playing Pokemon for some unknown reason. o.0 I'm an odd person, I know! XD Anyway, I hope ya'll enjoyed this chapter and I give thanks to **JayJayJigsaw** for reviewing and not ripping my eyes out for all the damn cliffhangers. XD LOL

UPDATE: FF glitched up this chapter badly, so I've fixed up the missing paragraphs FF removed. :D I swear I hate it when FF glitches like this. DX


	6. Chapter 5: Conversations Kill

Pairings thus far: **Minor mentionings of (ended) Miz/OC(f)**

**Alright, **_**this**_** time I'm going to make sure the text hasn't been fucked up before I post a chapter! (The text in the last chapter repeated the first two paragraphs and deleted two or three others and I had to fix it) *slams fist against desk* Okay now...you'll probably notice that the description for the story has been tweaked a little, yes? Well...let's just say that it's only fair to warn readers of the possibly events that are to occur in this story...like in this chapter, for instance. xD Okay now...on to business! *puts on serious face* (WARNING! This chapter is very long...I'm sorry! DX)  
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

"MIKEY! MIKEY! MIKEY! MIKEY! MIKEY! MIKEY..." Michael's arms stayed in the air as the bright grin on his mug shimmered with delight and pride in the light of all of the drunk college alumni of Miami University. During high school, he hadn't actually been one to start up any fights or anything with other students...so it was kind of a shocker for him to be in the spotlight after winning one. To have people chanting his name, screaming at his show-boating, and even copying him. Sweet, innocent, little Mikey Mizanin...the young man who, even though being involved in so many activities in high school, never actually fit in because he was different and unusual...the feeling was so..._surreal_.

Other guys in Mikey's position wouldn't of even cared at the slightest if they had even won the fight with Bobby or not; it wasn't like anybody was even sober enough to remember it the next day. No _normal_ guy would actually care in the circumstance of nobody watching that would actually remember the damn thing! Of course, young Mizanin wasn't like other guys in his position and didn't really care if they were intoxicated or not; at least it was a self esteem boost on his part, right? Yes, it was a feeling that Michael would always remember and cherish to himself. But, unfortunately, the feeling couldn't last forever and the night wouldn't end as wonderfully as Mikey thought it would end.

The glorious feeling of accomplishment finally faded away after Mikey had turned his entire body around to see the sight of his best friend caught in a devastating argument with his fiancee' behind a large crowd of cheering college students. Mitchell's newly impregnated girlfriend of two years was spotted pointing her finger at her husband-to be, screaming fiercely at him as he sported a rather terrified facial expression upon his front. Mikey's smile faded away, his arms dropped to his sides, and "The Miz" was put to rest as Michael Mizanin finally found control once again. Mikey started forward, politely pushing his way past all the drunken fools staring at the young man with their glassy eyes. "S'cuse me...s'cuse me....s'cuse me...sorry...s'cuse me..."

Once he had finally made his way past all the other students, Mikey rushed his way over to his friend in need as all the people, who had been watching him fight off his former childhood friend moments ago, finally returned to drinking, dancing. and running off to have a good, drunken fuck with each other in random rooms of the fraternity. He didn't want to _fully_ barge in on the argument; he just wanted to be close enough just to see if his buddy needed his help for anything. Mikey knew that eavesdropping was wrong and all, but Mitchell really looked like he needed an empty journal to jot down all his emotions into. He actually believed in being there for his friends whenever they needed him most. He learned this behavior from his mother and he was so grateful that he took more after her than his cold-hearted father, whose only really big accomplishment he had ever been able to achieve in his lifetime was opening up his own burger joint after being fired from his office job due to being so hammered one day on the job that he had grabbed the skirt of one of his co-workers and yanked it off of her waist.

"You don't fucking tell me what to do, Mitchell! You're _NOT_ my goddamn boss!"

"Baby, I'm just concerned about the health of you and the baby! Do you even realize how unhealthy it is to drink while pregnant, Bri? Do you?"

"So? It's my body and I'll do what I want with it. You don't order me around like some kind of dictator!"

"But baby, I wasn't--"

"Stop calling me that, Mitchell!"

"I'm sorry..."

"You better be sorry, you _stupid_ son of a bitch!"

"I just want you and the baby to be healthy, Bri...I wasn't trying to--"

"Shut up! You have no say so in _what_ the fuck I do with this mistake!"

After she had angered him enough, Mikey finally had enough and stormed over to the couple. "A mistake? A _mistake_? Is that seriously what this whole thing is to you, Brianna? A fucking _mistake_?" The pretty brunette turned her focus onto her boyfriend's best friend and bit her glossy, pink bottom lip as the green eyeshadow and black eyeliner that was applied to her face added emphasis to the fury within her wooden brown eyes. "Fuck off, Michael. You have nothing to do with--" He cut her off by motioning his hand in a horizontal-like wave.

"Uh uh. No, no, no, no, _NO_. You don't talk to Mitchell like that, you arrogant little bitch!" Her mouth dropped open as Mitchell stepped forward. "Woah dude, chill. That's my girlfriend you're talking to!" Mikey's focus shifted towards his best friend, but only long enough to reply with, "Mitch, this girl's an inconsiderate little twat. She's killing your _baby_, for fuck's sake!" As much as Mitchell wanted to stick up for the love of his life, he knew that Michael was 100% correct in his argument. Of course, he had to remember that Michael had been in the student government in Normandy and, therefore, debating was a skill in which he was a master of; so he kept his mouth shut for a time.

"_Excuse me_? Who are _you_ calling an inconsiderate twat, Michael Mizanin? _You're_ the one standing here, getting in involved in a discussion that isn't even any of your goddamn business!"

"_I'm_ not the one standing here, screaming at my boyfriend about how our unborn child is a mistake!"

"You have no right to stand there and talk to me that way! Do you have ovaries, Michael? Well? _Do you?_ You have no clue whatsoever what it feels like having to bare a child inside of your body!"

"Oh, and you _do_? _Please!_ You've only _just_ figured out that your ass got knocked up!"

"So what? The point is still there that I have an embryo inside of my uterus right now."

"Ch-_yeah_, an embryo that's either going to die young or grow up _retarded_ because its mother's an alcoholic _bitch_!"

After Mikey's sentence, Brianna casted a large slap across the face of the argumentative young man. As much as he wanted to hit her back, Mikey held back for Mitchell's sake and just glared into her eyes with a unsung fury that was only created by the desire to protect his closest friends from white trash tramps like Brianna Baxter. Mike gently skimmed his cheek with his left hand, feeling the sore spot she'd hit as the young woman stormed off. Mikey looked at his childhood friend with soft eyes, but Mitchell just sighed and followed his girlfriend. Mikey turned and watched as Mitchell hopelessly followed the woman who had stolen his heart, blind to what she really was. It was at that moment that Mikey ultimately decided that the party was over for him and he made his way for the stairway leading to the 2nd floor of the Theta Chi Fraternity house.

After making his way past all of the horny college students making out in the hallway, Michael eventually made it to him and Mitchell's room. He reached in his pocket for his door key (he kept one with him to avoid having to deal with strangers using his room as a porno location) and opened the door casually. Typically, the room was completely empty and he closed the door behind him sighing heavily. At first, he considered just flopping downward onto his bed, but he remember vaguely that he still had a very important test to study for. So, even though the young man wasn't exactly in a good mood after what had just happened a couple of minutes ago, he turned on the little radio that had laid on top of his wooden desk, took a seat, and stared at his closed textbooks.

Once a couple of minutes had passed since Mikey had entered the room, he had eventually made himself open of of his Economics textbooks and start from the beginning of the second chapter. Business wasn't exactly the career that Michael had actually wanted to go for, but it wasn't like he knew much of what he wanted to do anyway. Yes, he may have had crazy dreams about being a professional wrestler one day but, like all childhood dreams, it was too unrealistic of a dream to ever occur...or was it? Besides, he figured that maybe if he listened to his father and went to college and strove for a business degree, his dad could help him get a job somewhere that would at least pay him enough to pay rent on an apartment room or something.

Time seemed to just slug its way past slowly as possible while Mikey read away the pages that he knew would probably seal his fate forever. Michael turning the pages of his textbook, the constant repetition of the economic cycle replaying in his head (_"Prosperity, recession, depression, and recovery. Prosperity, recession, depression, and recovery. Prosperity, recession..."_ ), the static-y chatter on the radio about The United States Senate rejecting ratification of the Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty that would constantly follow after a song was played, and the outside noises of drunken students destroying everything; these were the only sounds that currently existed within the mind of Michael Mizanin at the moment. At that moment, these were the only things really happening in the life of the 19 year-old young man. But, the major mistake here is that he didn't think of what was _about_ to happen and what outer forces were going to create another event for the young man. After all, we cannot live with opening our minds to the unknowns of the future, right?

Michael checked the blue wall clock over next to his bed and was shocked to see that it was almost 2:30 in the morning. Where the _hell_ was Mitchell? Hours had passed since Mikey had left the party and there was still _no_ sign of Mitchell anywhere. Was it possible that he and Brianna had gotten into something worse than a fight? Or perhaps maybe they made up and they were off in her dorm room?

Before Michael could leave the room to find out, a sudden crash loud enough to make the poor boy fall out of the desk seat and onto the carpet pushed against his room door. Whenever Mikey finally returned to his feet, he realized the crash was the sudden sound of Mitch rapidly opening the door and slamming hard behind him. "Fuck-ving bitch! That little--little _tramp_!" Mikey was greeted with the sight of his best friend, red-faced as could be, tugging at his bangs with his sweaty palms, and alcohol stains all over his gray T-shirt. "Little fucking _SLUT_!"

Mikey slowly made his way over to his heavily distressed pal and placed his right hand on his shoulder. "Whoa, whoa...chill out, man. What happened?" Mitchell's murderous mug met with Mikey's sympathetic mug and he spat out, "The little cock-th sucking b-bitch lied to me! V'it's not my baby...the little whore cheated on me with that Trevor Bolv-mer prick! I oughta kick-th his z'ass...mark my words, Mich-veal...I'll kick the son of a bitch's--" "Brianna cheated on you with _that_ fatass? Holy shit, dude! You dated a real slut there..." Mitchell made some loud groaning noise while he pushed through Michael as he staggered over to his bed. Once Mitchell had landed face first onto his mattress, the only noise to fill the room was the staticness of the song on the radio.

_"Drivin' faster in myy carrr...fallin' farther from just what we arrre...smoke a cigarette and lie some morrre; these conversations killll...fallin' faster in my carrr..."_

Mikey stared at the body of best friend for about a minute or two. He couldn't stand the sight of the only friend that had actually stayed with him for this long to be in so much pain. Mitchell had always been there for Mikey in his time of need and now it was Mikey's turn to be there for his best friend. So, with that thought, he made his way over to his friend and took a seat next to him.

**He shouldn't of done that...**

"Mitch...I'm so, so sorry. I've never exactly been in a very serious relationship before, so I couldn't even begin to grasp what you're feeling right now." The slightly hammered boy rolled onto his side to face Mike with red, wet eyes. "She had my heart, Mikey...two long years...those days seemed so--so wonderful, man...she was my first love, my first kiss, my first slow-dance, my first _time_...she was so many things to me, Mikey...and now she's gone...and it's all my fault." With that, his eyelids came pushing hard down as the beginning of the endless supply of tears began to fall. That was the first, and last, time that Mikey had ever seen his best friend like this and the moment just killed the young man. His heart feeling faint, Mikey pulled Mitchell up from his side and wrapped his arms tightly around him.

**He **_**really**_** shouldn't of done that...**

Michael began to fight his own battle of tears trying to fall and, pathetic as it was, he failed and allowed a couple of streams of liquid roll underneath his eye sockets. "Mitchell...y-you have no idea how much I-I'd love to be able to just wish and magically make you whole again...to save you...but I just can't do that. All I can do is comfort you. Y-You never needed her, man; she was a fucking slut, anyway. You deserve so much better, Mitchell...so much better..." Mikey reached around Mitchell's neck so he could wipe his own tears off his face before he broke the hug to do the same for his childhood friend. Mitchell's sobbing calmed down and he began to look softly into the eyes of his friend since elementary. "Thank you so much, Michael...y-you know...I've always sort of looked at you as a hero to me. I always believed that you could do anything you ever wanted...and I always will."

**"Don't do it, you little fucker."**

_"Too much walkin', shoes worn thinnn...too much trippin' and my sooul's worn thinnn..."_

Mikey felt his cheeks turn pink with his friend's words. "Thank you, Mitch...I've always seen you as kind of...well..a role model to me, sometimes. You have everything I've never wanted...and I don't know why.I've lived in confusion for too long, Mitchell...but you have it all...and I've always looked up to you for that." Mitchell's glazed eyes shimmered in the night light as his hand gently touched Michael's cheek. Mikey's heartbeat shuddered for a second out of severe confusion. What was this feeling he was feeling deep in his stomach? Was it actually...a slight _infatuation_?

**"He was like your brother; you never loved him that way."**

_"Time to catch a riiide it leaves today, her name is what it means...to much walkin', shoe's worrrn thinnn..."_

This was true, even though Michael was feeling a strange and unusual sensation that he had never once ever felt with a female before, he still only found comfort in knowing that Mitchell was okay. But still...where was this coming from? "Mitch..." The slightly younger man just began to caress the soft cheek of Michael Mizanin as his face drew closer to the other man's own. _"Mitchell..." _Soon, the two young men were so close together that Mikey could feel Mitchell's hot breath hitting his lips.

**"Don't **_**fucking**_** do it!"**

_"Timmme to taaaake her hommme, her diizzy heead is conscience laden...timmme to taaaake a riiide that leaves today no conversation..."_

Nerviousness and curiosity began to overwhelm Michael's entire spiritual aura. His heartbeat pounded at the speed of a hippity-hop, his breath exhaled out as uneasy, but faint heaves, and his eyes began to water again. After all those years of wondering, questioning...all those confusing theories and scenarios that Michael had always gone over in his head...they were all about to disappear forever and he would have new knowledge embedded into his cranium. The only question was..._why? _Why was this happening, why was this supposed to happen...and why did he _want_ it to happen? His eyes began to widen a bit as the moment finally came in its glory; Mitchell's lips pressed themselves gently against Michael's and the two men were caught in a first ever kiss between the two.

**"...you just did it..."**

Within the first few seconds of this event, Michael felt very...different. But it was a good kind of different; it was the first time he had ever kissed somebody that actually made him feel the way that kisses are supposed to make people feel like. Never once whenever Mikey had kissed a girl had these feelings of such..._electricity_ ever occurred. Once the feeling sunk in (which didn't take _too_ awfully long), Michael finally felt comfortable enough to close his eyes and wrap his arms around Mitchell's neck. That was when things _really_ started to heat up.

_"Conversations kiiiiiiiiill...conversations kiiiiiiiiiill...conversations kiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiill..."_

Tongues began to lash ferociously at each other inside the two men's mouths, Mikey was breathing hard, and Mitchell was unzipping his own jeans. Mitch pushed Mikey onto his back and he climbed to the top of his waist. The top boy eyed Mikey's jean-clad pulsation as he slowly worked at his zipper. "Mitch...I can't let you do this..." Mitchell, refusing to take his eyes off of Mikey's bronze zipper, just simply replied with, "I know, I know; I'm drunk. But Mikey...do this for me. Please? I need this, man...I need this badly."

Michael, unsure on how this would pan out in the later hours, wanted to keep in mind that this may have been a horrible idea, but the hormones running through him screamed that it was just fine. So the young man just kept his mouth shut as his best friend sat on top of him, working slowly at his pants zipper. Once Mitchell had finally gotten Mikey completely unzipped, Mitchell changed his focus from exposing Michael to exposing _himself. _Since his pants were already unzipped, Mitchell proceeded in sliding his hand down his briefs, grabbing the very tool that he thought created an unborn child, and pulling it out from the top of his briefs and used the lining of the fabric to hold his rock hard manhood upwards. Mitchell wasn't freakishly huge or anything, but he had a good size on him.

Mikey, blushing at the sight of his friend's erection, reached calmly for the prize before his eyes and wrapped his hand around it. Mitchell, who was originally planning to expose Mikey's own penis as well so they could _both_ get themselves off, shuddered at the touch and his mind went south for the winter. Michael's sweaty hand provided good lubrication for the circumsized cock that now rested between his palm and his fingers. He took a quick glance up at Mitchell and then looked back at his target. He then began to stroke the penis at a fairly moderate speed.

_"Conversations kiiiiiiiiiiill...conversations kiiiiiiiiiiiill...conversations kiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiill..."_

Mitchell's quiet moans began to dance gallantly into Michael's eardrums as he slowly sped up the speed of the stroke within each time he'd hear Mitchell's voice. _"Ugh...ungh...ugf..."_ Mikey's thumb remained rested on the head's glans as the pre-ejaculation leaving the meatus allowed Michael to go from regular speed to winding up and down like a drummer in a metal band. Mizanin had a good hand on him; it served him well all those lonely nights in high school. Mitchell's hand went down to his crotch and his held his testicles gently; Mikey knew what was coming next as he let his hand slide across Mitchell's excited veins and contours.

"Mitch, are you--" Before Michael could even finish his question, Mitchell quickly arched upward like a half moon while the white fluid oozed like a cannon onto Michael's shirt. Mitchell's deep breaths irked within his lungs as he looked down at Michael. "hehh..hehh..hehh...Your..heh..turn." But, unfortunately for Michael, Mitchell soon fell over beside the young man and passed out into sleep mode.

Not like it mattered, anyway; Mikey had had enough self-realization for one night that his own arousal eventually died as he helped zip Mitchell back up. He grabbed the pillow that was about maybe a couple of centimeters away from the sleeping boy's head, lifted said boy's noggin, and placed the pillow beneath it as he slowly let go of Mitchell's skull. He then proceeded in taking off his now filthy shirt, tossing it against the wall, and then zipping himself back up. After all was said and done, Michael walked over to the west end of the room and opened the green curtains up. He sat on the floor directly in front of the window, trying to contemplate what had just happened between him and his best friend.

Not too soon after looking outside the window, lightning was heard in a distance; rain would be sure to come soon after. Not that it make any bit of a difference whatsoever; Mitchell would still wake up the next morning with a killer headache, but a full memory. He and Michael would agree that it was something done whenever they were both in horrible states of mind and ultimately decide that nothing ever happened. Yes, they eventually returned back to normal as best friends since childhood and successfully kept their promise to never speak of the event to one another ever again and the two didn't even feel romantically attached to one another ever again...but Michael wouldn't ever forget that night. How could he whenever it was the very night that informed him of something that cursed him for the rest of his life?

This was a horrible thing for Michael to know and he felt so hopeless knowing that it was the truth. Nobody he'd ever grown up with had ever shown any support for people that acted like he and Mitchell did that night...in fact, they were often tempted to _lynch_ anybody that would do such a thing. Michael Mizanin would now be forced to live the rest of his life drowned in lies if he'd ever want to keep his current moral levels amongst others the same as it was. He swore that very night that nobody would ever live to see him as what he truly was...something that he was so ashamed of that he couldn't even say the confession to _himself_. He would try more and more throughout the next couple of years to prove to himself and everybody else that he was perfectly normal in terms of who he'd love or whose ass he'd hit at night...even to the point of it becoming an unhealthy obsession...but the fact would always remain that he wasn't like most other men.

He, Michael Mizanin, was gay...

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Great news, everybody: we're finally leaving the OC scene! :D WHOOO! xD Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and, again, I apologize for this chapter being so freakishly long. D: And thanks to **JayJayJigsaw** for reviewing! :D


	7. Chapter 6: Moving On Up

Pairings thus far: _**Minor mentionings of (ended) Miz/OC(f) and a one-time consensual (ended) Miz/OC(m)**_

**Like I said in the previous chapter, we have officially left the OC scene and we are now landing in the...uh...other place. o_0 I have decided to finally use the quote that's in the description of the story as a tool for foreshadowing so I can maybe change the description a bit one last time so then people reading the story won't be all, "Oh goddammit, not **_**another**_** OC story..." xD Now, this chapter is more of an intro to the main setting for the story, so just keep that in mind. Alright, onward!  
-**

**Michael's House, Los Angeles, California 2006**

_"Some might say that sunshine follows thunder...go and tell it to the man who cannot shine. Some might say that we should never ponder on our thoughts today 'cause they hold sway over time..." - Liam Gallagher_

This. This very quote cited is the one that's best described as the "defining word usage" for Michael Mizanin; the quote that best described the story of Mike's life into just two sentences. The first time Michael had ever heard the 1995 song that had this quote within its musical notes, he always remembered it for some odd reason that he couldn't quite grasp at the time. And the further into his life that he advanced through, the more this quote meant something to him. Unfortunately, it was always for the worst and it that point became even more obvious about a week before the very moment he was at now as he stood in the ring...

But that was for a different time to go over in Michael's head; he didn't want to even acknowledge his current situation since he had not the heart to do so. Right now, the only memory going through Mikey's head was his first days as the one thing he had always dreamed of being, the redefining moment in every little boy's dreams that had finally became a reality for the now 25-going on-26 year old man. The moment that Mizanin never thought would occur within his lifetime as he was always told that it was nothing more than just a silly boyhood dream...the dream job that Michael had craved for so badly that he would've bit his lips to the point of drawing blood due to so much anxiety. He had worked so tediously at other things just for the one thing that he wanted and loved most in his life. That one thing that Michael was thinking of as he recalled himself laying cozily on his brand new, blue velvet sofa that had laid in the center of his lovely home in Los Angeles was...wrestling.

Michael Mizanin had grown up watching some of the greatest wrestlers of all time such as Hulk Hogan, Ric Flair, 'Stone Cold' Steve Austin, and many more legends. As a child watching these guys in the ring, Mikey had always smiled about his TV screen as he watched them make their fans proud and their haters angry...he wanted a life like that. He wanted to be a future poster child for professional wrestling...for people to scream his name either in awe or hatred as he made his way to the 4-sided ring to compete once, or maybe twice a week in random parts of the world. People had always told him that those wrestlers that he watched every week were nothing more than attention whoring show-offs who didn't a damn about their fans; Michael was determined to prove this statement wrong. Even though this didn't always work and it even caused some people to think he was actually as selfish in real life as he was on TV, it absolutely did work for the most part and the majority of the people he had met in his life saw him differently.

But, before he could reach that point in proving fans wrong, he had to work his way to recognition. First, after his friends were all well aware of what his plans were and had finally accepted the fact that he was leaving for the time being, Michael dropped out of college in order to move to Southern California so he could take a couple of acting lessons. Why acting lessons, you ask? Well, a number of reasons came to mind: because he wanted to become a wrestler and realized that he would have to know how to act as well as wrestle while in the ring, because he had a keen interest in joining the cast of "The Real World" as well as the fact that it would help promote himself to the world and maybe even get him recognized in some major places, or maybe because he just felt curious about the works of professional acting and wanted to learn more. As far as Michael was concerned, it was one of the only things in his life at the time that he actually _wanted_ to learn about.

So, with all of these reasons for him to succeed in his classes, you can only imagine that Michael did exactly what he intended to do, correct? _Absolutely_ correct. In fact, he made the highest overall performance-score in the entire class after the class's final exam was to convince their instructor that they were psychopathic serial killers holding him hostage. It wasn't hard of a challenge at the slightest; all Michael had to do was temporarily shift his mindset into "Miz" mode and-badabing!-psycho Mikey blessed the world for about fifteen to twenty minutes, which was the perfect amount of time "The Miz" needed to make his instructor beg and cry like a little newborn while his captor wielded a freshly sharpened dagger that Michael had bought from the Knife Show just about ten minutes from his house and held it closely to the poor man's Adam's apple. Needless to say that, whenever he had finally left "Miz" mode, Michael had felt just absolutely horrible for making the man react in such a way towards his acting. But, luckily for Michael, that was the kind of performance the man had wanted to see from his pupils because he wanted them to realize that, in the terms of acting, the only great actor is the one that can make everybody feel the certain emotions that he projects.

Once Michael had aced his acting classes, he found an ad advertising for "The Real World" and the young man just couldn't pass up the opportunity; this was his big chance to become known...not to mention that he had always wondered what it would be like to be on MTV. Whenever Mike's friends back home in Ohio, as well as the new ones he had made in California, had discovered that the young man wanted to be on MTV on a reality TV show, they all laughed at him and told him that he couldn't do it. Some friends, huh? But, young Mizanin didn't mind their burdens and he auditioned anyway and, after being accepted, he was called in to be a part of the cast. The show may have been just another typical "20 year-old douchebags living together while having wild fights and sex afterwords" type of thing that you always see on TV, but Michael didn't care; as long as it was a clever route to being noticed, that was all that mattered to him.

Michael spent three entire years in the Reality TV circuit..._three entire years_. Sure, he had gained himself some new friends through the experience, but the run-around eventually grew to be very tedious. Hell, it took him long enough to finally convince the producers to just let him try out his "Miz" character for them! Which, nonetheless, dropped the other housemates dead with the goofy man play wrestling them at random points in the show. Mizanin deemed this as the "birth" of "The Miz", but he never once mentioned where the "conception" of this baby came from due to the fact that people would think he was a jerk for praising his work defeating his former best friend in a fight...even though none of them even knew the actual story for themselves.

After a while of entertaining teenagers who lived for MTV, Michael finally decided that he didn't want to hold back any longer from his true and blue aspiration in life and he joined UPW. The young man, who had been told all his life that he'd never make it as a professional wrestler, amazed everyone who ever doubted him whenever he made it to the finals in the Mat Wars Tournament. Despite losing to Tony Stradlin, Mizanin still impressed the likes of World Wrestling Entertainment and was called in for an entry in the fourth season of Tough Enough. Again, Mikey made it very far into the competition...but failed at the last second. This just gave Michael the even better opportunity of bettering his wrestling skills even more.

The next two stops before reaching his destination were Deep South Wrestling and Ohio Valley Wrestling. In Deep South, Michael had teamed up with his very good friend, Matt Cappotelli, and rocked the ring until the sun would drop. But this didn't last very long due to Matt having to leave due to being diagnosed with such a shocking feat such as a brain tumor for such a young man. Despite Michael's heart being torn to shreds upon the condition of his great pal, he continued to dominate in the ring for his sake. Michael fought and fought his way to the top until he faced Mike Knox for the title and successfully won. As amazing of a feeling winning his first ever title was, he couldn't savor the emotion forever and he eventually went on to OVW. It was a glorious time where Mikey could be around his old friends again and catch up with them once more...but not for too as he was hired to hold the tag team championships with his partner Chris Cage for an unreasonably short amount of time after Cage was released from his contract.

Then...WWE finally called him in and hired the man for the main roster. He was to start off with such rather nicely done promos that would catch Mr. McMahon's fancy and eventually promote him from that point. Even though he was still a beginner to the whole thing, Mikey was a natural on the microphone as well as his amazing script-reading skills. After McMahon had finally been impressed enough with Michael's promo cutting and diva search hosting duties, he finally let the man begin his dream job as being a WWE superstar. It was a dream come true...after so many years of self determination, backbone, and indomitability mashed into one conscious, Mikey was now living the life he had wanted for far too long.

Yes, life was so sweet and delicious for Mr. Mizanin for the time being...but he still had baggage in the back of his mind that he let bother him often. There was a secret reason behind everything Michael had ever done; like why he allowed himself to get into relationships with women, but never actually felt any romantic nor erotic feelings towards them, why he let people push him around into things he didn't want to do, what the main reason was for wanting to take an acting class, and why he pretended so often for the people. The sweet, innocent little boy that had been born and raised in Parma his whole life...the poor boy that just wanted to follow his hopes and dreams one day...the sweet, little child that had grown up in a broken home compared to what suburban households usually were...the boy who would eventually grow up to be the man with the one secret that killed him the older he became. Michael's heart was in the right place for all his loved ones as well as complete strangers...but would this make a difference to anything? No, it wouldn't; he'd still be shunned for what he was.

Of course, winning his first match on Friday Night Smackdown! against Tatanka was an achievement in it's own that increased some of Mizanin's pride, he still couldn't forget that, by the end of the night, he'd still be just Michael Mizanin...the man who had such a humiliating factor in his personal traits that he couldn't even bring himself to admit it in actual words. Besides, he never intended for that day to ever arrive and he decided to just keep the secret to himself. Oh how he wished he could live as "The Miz" forever! His ring-time as The Miz was the only time Michael could truly be at a safe mind. Miz was everything Michael wasn't and that's why he envied his in-ring personality so much. The Miz was somebody who could've had anybody he wanted...Michael Mizanin, on the other hand, still felt so utterly ashamed of himself for being homosexual.

**"You could've been a straight man with the life any **_**normal**_** man would've wanted...hell, you could've even been bisexual and I wouldn't hate you as much...but no; you're a fucking faggot if there ever was one."**

So, for as long as Michael could pull it off, he continued to deny everything to everybody and even went to such huge extremes just to prove them all wrong. Things would go absolutely batshit after a while, but Michael would still keep pushing and pushing for he wouldn't allow the stereotype of wrestlers being oiled up men with big muscles and hard dicks for sodomy in the showers to transpire. The battle between Michael Mizanin and The Miz would only continue to lurch on throughout his life...even to the point of some very horrible turn of events. But only time would tell at this point...

Until then, Michael just wanted to keep knowing the feeling of coming to his senses after hearing his phone alarm go off. Seeing that he was a busy man now, Michael had set an alarm on his phone that would go off whenever it would be time to get his ass up, get packed, and make his way to his flight to the next city to be blessed by professional wrestling; this was now the time. The young man sat up from his laying position and shut his alarm off with a warm smile. All his worries would be temporarily gone as he worked at setting his mindset back to The Miz. Now was no time to fret, but for something else as the young man removed his worn out T-shirt:

_"Be good...be bad...be Miz..."_

-  
Now that our introduction to the actual WWE part of this story, let us celebrate by...erm...I don't know. o.0 I need sleep badly, so that explains it. xD Anyway, I've been rather lazy in writing this chapter because I didn't know how to word everything at first, but once I put my mind to it, I came up with this crap. XD Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed it! And thank you **Bourtonfreak13** and **JayJayJigsaw** for reviewing! :D


	8. Chapter 7: Ain't No Make Believe

Pairings thus far: _**Minor mentionings of reluctant (ended) Miz/OCs(f) and a one-time consensual (ended) Miz/OC(m)**_

**I realize that the story seems to skip around a bit with its time placements and all that, but it's doing that for a reason. :) Now...*tries to think of something to say*...umm...BOOGA! o.0 *slams head against desk* I don't know what quite to put up here. D: So I guess all there is to do is just read the chapter for yourself! :D *looks for something to energize myself a bit*  
-**

**Backstage at an ECW event sometime in 2007**

Think back to your childhood for a second; did you ever have the rather annoying title known to all of your fellow classmates...you know, the one that torments just about any poor soul entering a new school..."_The New Kid_"? Ah yes, being known as the ever friendly, yet oddly misunderstood "New Kid" has always been, pretty much, a deadly target set on you like a bounty. Most of the students hover over you, stare you down, and tell you to "Get lost, you don't belong here." Oh yes...you cry, you beg, and you pray that you will be saved from that hell soon...but it never happens and all you're left with is trying to make a name for yourself in the new place of action. And, like every other person in existence, Michael has had to deal with his fair share of disappointments.

Being that Michael had come from a Reality TV background, it was, needless to say, a rather cruel welcoming he had received upon entering the WWE's main locker room. Fellow superstars shoved him in the locker room, slapped his ass in the showers in grisly attempts to freak him out, and called him names like "Talentless Hack", "Reality Douchebag", and, Mike's favorite, "Jobber". In all fairness and for the sake of all logic regarding the situation; Mike was treated like a computer dweeb that constantly gets his head shoved into the toilet for a particularly awful swirlie. Hell, there was even a time that Michael was about to occupy one of the bathroom stalls before the show...that is until Dave Batista had come in and pushed him onto the floor so he could take the stall himself. But, as much as Mikey hated being treated the way he was backstage, he never gave up...no matter how much he might've wanted to.

You see, Michael had his own way of dealing with his problems; he'd try his hardest just to ignore the problem until it cleared up. Even Michael's most personal issues were usually ignored mostly whenever he was around other people. True, the more complicated factors in his life would usually come back to him eventually, but that didn't mean that he had to think about them forever. This idea worked for him most of the time...but the times that it didn't have been the few times whenever he's unleashed his faithful "Miz" on assholes talking down to him. Of course, this was usually very rare whenever he's had to do this, so nobody's perfect.

Besides, it wasn't like this was the first time Mikey had ever been treated this way; in high school, the first year of college, and throughout his trials in "The Real World", people didn't really like Michael that much. But it wasn't for the stereotypical reason of being an asshole or anything (on the contrary, Michael was considered a very sweet man outside of TV). The reason was for the simple fact that he was awkward. That is all. Sure, he was involved in quite a lot of extra-curricular activities during his years in Normandy, but this still didn't change the fact that he was a little on the..._strange_ side. He was one of those kids that could've brought world peace and gave all of the homeless people homes and he would've still been frowned upon for being an outcast.

It was really a shame, honestly. Somebody who lives his life catering to the needs and wants to others and gets nothing sentimental in return. If you ever tried to find anybody more dedicated to his friends and family, you'd have a hard time to do so. Michael believed in treating others the way he'd want to be treated...another trait inherited from his mother. Funny how one of the biggest pricks on TV was actually such a polar opposite in real life.

But this meant nothing in the WWE. No matter how nice Mikey had tried to be towards his fellow co-workers, they'd always bash him for being on Reality TV before. It didn't even matter that he did have _some_ wrestling experience; he was still an outsider. He'd watch some of the guys hang out and wish to himself that he could join them, but he was the Rudolph to their other reindeer. But his shiny red nose wouldn't phase him at the slightest.

As Michael Mizanin leaned up against a wall, wearing a black fedora with a white stripe around the top along with his favorite starry hoodie and blue jeans, and turned the pages of his life's work's origins: his script. All of the WWE superstars were expected to meet the same demands when it came to how well they went along with the script and how well they executed their moves whenever within the bittersweet boundaries of the 4 sided ring. It was like acting in an action movie once, twice, maybe even three or four times a week. But the heroes would always have to win in the long run; people like John Cena, Rey Mysterio, etc, etc. So you can imagine that a devilish little heel like The Miz wouldn't be praised that much, right?

So far into reading what his near future would have in store for him, Mike learned that he would have to keep his dreadful "Chick Magnet" gimmick for quite some time. Why oh why did the WWE writing staff have to make _him_ the self proclaimed ladies man of the show whenever he didn't even like the women in the first place? _"Oh well...it gives me an excuse to cover up more of those boils within my mind with temporary powder, right?"_ Oh well, he would be getting something out of it; a paycheck and a new tag team partner. As embarrassing as it was, Michael hadn't actually paid much attention to the wrestlers in the back due to him being hated amongst his so-called "peers".

So according to the script, before this mystery guy would become his partner, Mikey would have to feud against him for some time as the two fought for the ECW Championship belt. Apparently this man was also informed of this and has told the writing staff to tell Michael that he wanted to meet him personally. As excited as Michael was to meet his new soon-to-be tag team partner, he also felt a strange tingling feeling inside the tissues of his stomach. He would eventually realize why this feeling was majorly important to him in the oncoming years as the man that changed Mikey's life forever was seen around the corner, making his way towards him. Oh yes...it was a day that Michael remembered perfectly...how couldn't he forget about it; he wouldn't be able to let go of that memory even if he wanted to.

**"...**_**him**_**..."**

The lean, clean cut, fur coat wearing man approached Mizanin closer and closer. His long, brown hair laying obediently at both sides of his face, his movement being that of a rather masculine strut, and the light coming from the ceiling lamps, laminating his presence once more. And those _abs_-oh sweet Jesus! Those abs! Michael had never seen a more perfect set of chest muscles in his entire lifetime! In basic terms, this man was _hott_.

So to keep from swooning like a little schoolgirl, Mikey looked straight into the man's beautiful brown eyes and extended his hand. "Hey there, I'm-" Before Mikey could finish his greeting, the man pushed him up against the wall harshly and stared him down. He said absolutely nothing for about five entire seconds as Mikey contemplated on whether he should be frightened, or turned on by the fellow's aggressive actions. Finally, the gorgeous man spoke up.

"Look here, bro...I know who you are. Yeah...I know exactly who you are...you're _"The Miz"..._a man who thinks he's a real lady-killer whenever he's nothing more than a reality show has-been who got the easy way into the business." _"...lady killer?" "_Anyway, I see you're holding a script...something I'm sure you're used to since we all know reality TV is scripted." Actually, "The Real World" wasn't scripted for the most part...in everybody _else's _case; Mikey, like everything else in his life, was scripted from the bone just about when it came to lying about his most personal details. 'So, I'm sure that you know about us being involved in storylines together, right? Hard to comprehend? Anyway, you just stay with the script and you'll cease from having any trouble with me. _Got it_?"

"Dude, will you relax for just a split second, _please_? You're making yourself look like a total ass!"

"Don't tell me what to act like, asshole."

"CHILL. OUT. You have me completely misunderstood thanks to all of the stupid rumors going around about me!"

"Oh really, then? Then tell me, what exactly _have_ you done to deserve a WWE contract? Did you suck the boss's dick or something?"

"Tough Enough, I went to DSW, OV-"

Finally, the handsome man released Mikey from the wall and dropped his arms to his sides. "You were in Tough Enough _and_ OVW? Dude, so was I. Who did you work with?" Mikey rubbed the back of his head in relief and replied with, "I was trained by Al Snow in Tough Enough and I was tag team champions with Chris Cage. You?" The man crossed his arms. "Really? I was totally the tag champs before, as well...but I've teamed up with my friend, Matt Cappotelli, in dark matches and on Heat."

Michael's jaw dropped. "_M-Matt Cappotelli...?_ Dude! He was, like, my greatest wrestling pal ever!" The brunette's eyes widened. "Seriously? You know Matt?"

The younger man nodded his head like an excited puppy. "Uh-huh! Dude, me and him were going to go for the belts...but then..." The long haired man's face dropped and he sighed. "I know...he's alright now, though." Mike grinned a small bit back. "I know...but still...so, so..._young_."

The older man nodded. "Yeah..." The two stood in silence for just a moment before the long haired man spoke again. "You know...you're alright. You have a heart in you...I respect that. I'm so sorry that I misjudged you. Start over?" Mikey smiled and nodded.

The other man smiled back and extended his hand. "I'm John Hennigan, but you'll refer to me as "John Morrison" in the ring." Mikey accepted the hand and shook it and said, "I'm Michael Mizanin...but you already know what to call me in the ring." John let go of Mike's hand and turned to his left before turning back to Mike. "Well...I need to get going. I'll see you around, okay? Oh, and I still don't fully like the idea of us being a tag team...understand me?"

Michael's smile faded a little bit, but he still nodded. "I understand. I'll be seeing you around, John." Hennigan smiled again and strolled onward, away from Michael. He sighed and looked back at his script. He slid his finger across the front cover before he looked back towards John's designated destination, only to see he was gone.

At that moment in time, Michael couldn't help but wonder if John would ever become a major part of his life or not. Like as a friend...almost like brothers...or maybe even more than that? Preposterous! Michael had already promised himself that he wouldn't try anything funny with anybody for his entire life ever again. But then again...what was so funny about wondering?

Wondering...just wondering and wondering...

-  
JOMO SHOWED UP! :D *throws confetti* Yay! XD *gains composure* Anyway...I hope you enjoyed the chapter! And a special thanks to **KimberAnnBRAND** for reviewing! :D


	9. Chapter 8: Battle In The UK

Pairings thus far: _**Minor mentionings of reluctant (ended) Miz/OCs(f) and a one-time consensual (ended) Miz/OC(m)**_

**I OWN ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. *remembers* Well...okay...I **_**do**_** own the OCs that were in the first couple of chapters, but that's it! D: I actually struggled a bit with typing this chapter because I had trouble deciding between two possible events to write about. But then I decided to just pick the earliest. xD Now, enjoys ya'llselves! :3  
-**

**Backstage at an ECW event in the United Kingdom, 2007**

As a WWE superstar, you have to expect to travel to many locations not only in the United States, but _all over_ the planet. This wasn't limited to _just_ the older superstars and you can expect that a newcomer like The Miz was just overwhelmed to be able to travel outside of his home country, right? It was an experience in his lifetime that made him think about his childhood once more. In elementary school, high school-hell! Even in college you are taught every year in your US History classes all about the United States' greatest achievements and downfalls, but how often do you get to travel to places thousands of miles away from that very classroom, learning so much more about the world than you would've? Before he had set foot a step into the country that seemed so alien-like to him, Michael hadn't really realized just how similar...yet _different_ that the UK was to the US in terms of economy, politics, and pop culture. It was truly an experience and Michael didn't even care that this current memory in the UK was just after John Morrison and himself had lost to CM Punk and Kane just barely a week shy of Cyber Sunday.

Once the cameraman had let Mikey know that the camera was about to be rolling again, he started pacing back and forth, holding the back of his neck in pain as to put emphasis on how he felt after being chokeslamed by The Big Red Machine. Once Michael had timed about three seconds perfectly to be put on air, he reached "Miz mode" again and he took a set on one of the equipment boxes while the sound of his partner's angry calls came to his ears. The time for acting arrived once John finally stomped over to his partner and angrily pushed his elbow away from his neck. "Hey!" Miz made it to his feet easily after throwing a typical _"What?"_ at Morrison.

"The hell was that?"

"The hell was _what_?"

"What do you mean; you lost!"

"_You_ lost!"

"You. Got. Beat!"

"You ran into me and I came _right_ where I-"

"Look, you cost me the match and I'm sick of you costing me votes because you're a loser!"

"You-_I'm_ a loser?"

"You're a loser."

Silence came for about two seconds while Miz looked away from his bitter partner. The he looked back at Morrison once he broke the silence once more.

"As a matter of fact, how would you feel about losing _again_ tonight?"

"What-a match? _Tonight?"_

"Yeah a match tonight! So I can go back out there and prove to everyone why they should vote for me!

"I just got chokeslamed by _Kane_! Screw that..."

Miz turned his back, but turned back while delivering a fake, yet realistic looking sucker punch to Morrison's jaw; causing him to fall on his back. John held his jaw on the floor while Miz walked over to him and stood over his body. Miz crouched down to get a closer view of his partner. At that moment, he sealed the deal with one final statement:

"You're on."

And with that, the angry, wild head-of-haired man stepped over his fallen partner and walked off screen. "Aaannnd...clear!" Miz let Mikey have control again and the man turned back to view his kayfabed enemy get to his feet. Roy, the laid back cameraman that had just filmed the segment made himself be seen by the two men. "Great job, guys."

While Roy and the rest of his crew gathered their things to leave, John walked towards Michael, or at least in his _direction_. "Nice work, man. Had me going for a minute." Mike smiled and held his hand up as if going for a high five. "H-Hey thanks, dude. You..." Once he had realized that John had walked right past him, Michael's smile faded away and his arm slowly came down. "...too."

The disappointment in his voice trailed on in his mind repetitively as he let out a somewhat audible sigh. _"It's alright Mikey...you'll be accepted as a capable wrestler one day..." _Michael turned around to catch the view of his next opponent still walking away to his locker room, more than likely. "Yeah...but _when_?" he muttered under his breath. The newcomer sighed again and proceeded in making his way to the back cloth that would open up to reveal his passageway to the ring.

Later that night, after not having anything else to do rather than wait around since he wasn't exactly confident enough to start a conversation with any of the other superstars, Michael's instrumental theme song echoed throughout the arena as he exited the black curtains covering his passageway. The Miz made his entrance the way he normally would...only with an extra detail; he still had to pretend to be hurt from his match earlier that night. The match bell was hit three times and was followed by the usual, "The following contest is scheduled for one fall. Making his way to the ring...from Cleveland, Ohio, weighing in at 231 pounds...The _Miz_!" The crowd was booing him as they always did, but this mattered not to The Miz; he fed off of people's negativity. After the already hurt superstar dropped from the turnbuckle, he stood in the middle of the ring and heard the sudden drone of a guitar mixed in with the crowd's favoring cheers.

_"Now listen, this ain't no make belieeeeve...c'mon-"_

"And from Los Angeles, California, weighing in at 220 pounds...John _Morrison_!" So as this was going on, John was angrily staring at who everyone known as "The Chick Magnet" while now and then brushing his jaw with his hand. After the man with the glamorous fur pants was done trying to look like a hard ass while trying to get inside the ring, The Miz began taunting him with typical insults for about a couple of seconds...that is, right before the bell rung and John charged at him, ramming him into the turnbuckle. John's opponent threw punches at the back of his head and he retaliated by throwing a quick punch to the mohawked man's side. Miz then felt himself being lifted by the undeniably sexy man and thrown onto the ring mat.

John found himself between Miz's legs, throwing punches at his face as the clothed legs bucked at him. The fallen man didn't hold back any defense methods as he fought back with just as many flying fists. Morrison tried get back to his feet, but the still fallen Miz's risen legs and his fists still persuaded the barely standing man to crouch back down. The two men proceeded in the struggle; John stumbled a couple times as Miz tried to get back to his feet. Miz had finally gotten a hold of John and rolled him over so now the mohawked man was the one on top.

The Miz took the place John had going on for a short moment until he was pushed onto his back by Morrison's feet. In the back of Miz's mind, Michael Mizanin was almost disappointed that him and John had stopped wrestling in that position. _Almost. _Miz grabbed on to rope near the turnbuckle before John had grabbed him again and backhanded him back onto the mat. Miz kept his hold on the top rope until John pulled him back up and pushed him into the turnbuckle again.

John continued to punch The Miz about two more times (referee on his case both times). The huffed up man pulled his opponent with him to the middle of the ring, turned around so he was directly behind The Miz in the opposite direction, and performed the perfect neck breaker. Miz bounced upward slightly and he began holding the back of his already sore neck in agony. While the fallen man continued to roll on the mat, neck in obvious pain, John turned him back around and lifted him to his feet again. He held Miz's arm out for a moment before kicking him straight in the sternum, causing him to fall back again.

The Chick Magnet rolled over and crawled over to the ropes again. He grabbed on to the successfully, but in time for John to grab him again. He brought him back to the middle of the ring again and proceeded in irish whipping Miz over to the turnbuckle yet again. Even though this entire match was scripted, the mohawked man still felt inferior to the man wearing white, furry designer pants; he _had_ to get control of this match. So whenever John attempted to charge at him, The Miz cleverly moved out of the way, causing the pain to be inflicted upon Morrison.

Now that Miz had the upper hand, he walked over to the other end of the ring and charged at Morrison, successfully performing his signature swinging turnbuckle clothesline. He held on to his neck for a moment before getting himself untangled from the ring ropes. Miz walked over to the now fallen John Morrison, drug him to the middle of the ring, turned him over and attempted the pinfall. "I_...2_-" Morrison kicked out of the pin, boos from the crowd following.

Miz lifted himself upward and stomped the back of John's head, causing him to roll over. He walked over to his opponent and pulled him upward, two unfriendly punches to the side from John following. Miz held his gut, but managed to counter John's next attack by grabbing his foot in motion. He threw John's foot back down, but was then greeted by Morrison's spinning kick attack. Miz slowly fell back onto the mat.

Morrison grabbed Miz's arm and turned him over, moving his hand from his arm to the hem of his Capri pants. Miz tried to escape as John slid his other hand around his waist, but he was unsuccessful as John lifted him from behind and placed him on top of the turnbuckle. John struck Miz's back before joining him on the top rope. His placed his hand around Miz's waist and Miz place his arm around John's neck. Miz was still determined to get control of his match, so he stepped his left foot on the top of the turnbuckle and.._pow!_ Barely countered John's attack by swinging to Morrison's side, slamming him onto the ground, but still causing himself to hurt his knees and roll away from John in pain.

All a sudden...the sudden sounding of Big Daddy V's theme music aired and the big, obese man made his way to the ring along with his tagalong, Matt Striker. The rest of this match was a complete blur to Michael; all he knew was that he and John were totally owned by the big man as a way to make a statement to CM Punk, the man he would be challenging at Cyber Sunday. This event ended the show for the night and every lifeform in the room eventually headed on out for their respective homes for the night. Well...the fans would be anyway; the superstars would all return to their hotel suites for some well needed rest before the long flight back to America in the morning would arrive. It was hard to be a WWE superstar, but it most _certainly_ paid.

After an hour or so, Michael had already cleaned himself up and dressed back into his regular street clothes. He carried his bags along with him as he made his way to his rented car, which was a 2005 blue Honda. "Mike, wait up!" At the sound of his name, Michael turned around to see John jogging over towards him. The long haired man stopped in front of him and held out his hand.

"Hey man...I just wanted to say that that was a great match out there. Even though neither one of us won the match." Michael smiled and grabbed his hand and form a handshake. "So...you aren't going to diss me again?" John sighed and let go of Mike's hand. "Yeah...I'm sorry about that, man. It's just that-well-I've had a lot of things on my mind and the fact that nobody really respects you very much kind of gets me, as well."

Mike rolled his eyes. "John, when are you going to form your _own_ opinion of me instead of listening to everyone else's? I'm not the complete jackass that I am on TV. I have my moments, yes, but really...who doesn't?" John scoffed at the younger man. "I _do_ have my own opinion of you. It's that you're the new guy that's only been with the company for a year and already thinks he deserves respect from the superstars who have been here while he was still learning how to perform a basic hiptoss perfectly. Michael chuckled at John's so-called "opinion" of him and replied with, "Obviously the basic hip-toss is a _very_ brutal attack. I mean, look at what it did to Super Cena!"

The two men stayed quiet for a moment before breaking out into simultaneous laughter. John put his hand on Mikey's shoulder as his playful laughs continued to surface. "Ha-oh man-hahahaha..." The two men's laughter eventually faded away into an exchange of friendly glances upon both men. John smiled and dropped his arms to his sides.

"You aren't _too_ bad, kid. Maybe the people in the back are wrong about you." Michael gave the older man a friendly grin. "They _are_ wrong." John looked to his side before looking back at Michael. "Well, I'm off. I'm exhausted and we still need to have the might for our _lovely_ flight home."

The two men threw light waves at one another as the long-haired wrestler walked past Michael, searching for his ride. Mike watched his kayfabed arch rival leave the building for his safe haven of his hotel suite. It seemed like this Hennigan fellow was finally starting to see Michael for what he really was rather than _just_ looking at his wrestling character. Was it possible that Michael _finally_ had a friend amongst him in the business? After all, no matter how much John viewed himself, he knew _exactly_ what Mikey was going through as the new guy.

-  
Gaaaah...I get my report card in 2-3 days. I hope to god I didn't fail anything; I'd really like to be a Senior after the summer break is over! D: *crosses fingers* Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! And a special thanks to **Bourtonfreak13** for reviewing! :D


	10. Chapter 9: Shower Tunes

Pairings thus far: _**Minor mentionings of reluctant (ended) Miz/OCs(f) and a one-time consensual (ended) Miz/OC(m)**_

**Time for a completely random chapter! :D I was originally planning to write a chapter putting the events listed first in this chapter into better context, but with little to no Youtube footage to help me source it from, what can I do? D: Anyways, enjoy the nonsense!  
-**

**Michael's home, 2007**

_"We did it...we actually did it. We actually won! HOORAH!"_

These very words are words that probably popped inside the minds of Buzz Aldrin and Neil Armstrong whenever they graciously landed on the Moon or maybe even people of less fame such as your high school football team after winning the championship trophy for the season. And why wouldn't these words pop into their heads after earning something of great achievement and importance? These words, my friend, are the words spoken or thought out by winners. And yes, you guessed it, these are the same words that popped into the minds of John Hennigan and Michael Mizanin after winning the WWE Tag Team Championship belts together.

It had been on the November 16 episode of Smackdown that the world got to view the not so shocking turn of events in a tag team title match as not only one, but two matches in a row had been scheduled in which Montel Vontavious Porter and Matt Hardy would epically fail to retain the titles from the two younger wrestlers. Since the WWE Creative team had been planning an angle for Matt and MVP to be rivals for the United States title that MVP had possessed, they just simply decided that it would be unethical for the two to be champions and thus written them out to lose their titles to one of the show's newest tag teams, the (then) untitled tag team of John Morrison and The Miz. The first match between the two teams that night had ended in quite a disappointingly short turn of events as Miz was tagged in and caught Matt Hardy in a sudden pinfall that was aspired by Morrison's crafty leg work from outside the ring. Of course, you can imagine Montel Vontavious Porter wasn't very happy with this outcome and demanded his rematch clause immediately after his team's embarrassing defeat. Unfortunately, Matt Hardy had then failed him yet again by tapping out to Morrison's submission hold.

Oh yes, what a fabulous night that was! Despite the entire event being one that Michael already knew would happen thanks to the script, he still couldn't help but feel an overwhelming amount of ecstasy in his blood. The WWE Tag Team Championship belt had been the first major belt the young man had ever held on television and Mikey couldn't even begin to express his heavy gratitude for the writing staff. Not only had the said workers helped Michael with his first title reign, but they also helped encourage another positive event in his life to occur. And that said event would be happening very soon as a matter of fact; John Hennigan was expected to arrive at Michael's front door in a few hours.

For the past couple of weeks, the relationship between Mike and John could only be described as...well, _stalled_. Michael wanted to formed a friendship with the California native since the common knowledge between them was that they would be future tag champions together, but John refused to actually acknowledge themselves as official friends until Michael proved to him that he wasn't the reality hack that everybody had made him out to be. John knew deep down that the younger man wasn't the bad guy that he was on TV, but then again, John hadn't ever really been one to trust others as well as he ought've. Fortunately, winning the titles was just enough to convince the long-haired man that the former Reality TV star wasn't all that bad and decided to visit the younger man in his Los Angeles home to talk everything over.

Even though John was just coming over to talk with Michael about holding the tag titles, Mizanin couldn't help but feel butterflies fluttering about on the inside of his already empty stomach. It wasn't a lie that Michael found John to be possibly the sexiest man he had ever laid eyes on and it wasn't exactly everyday that an incredibly hott guy set foot inside of Michael's house just to hang out with him. So it was pretty much a give in that Michael would do everything he could to give the older man a good impression of him. That was the best explanation Mikey could pan out as he clutched a duster, a Windex spray bottle, and a wet dish rag...cleaning everything that even remotely looked unsanitary to the faux-hawked young man.

**"Now, I'm going to become my mother for a day for I, Michael Mizanin, am not only one half of the WWE Tag Team Champions, but I am also...The House Nanny Champion of the World...or at least my house. With my plastic duster and dampened wash cloth of Justice, I'll bring the germs in this house to their knees...Wow...I actually did shit like that for John? Oh boy...Michael, you **_**are**_** pathetic."**

_Spray. Scrub. Dust. Repeat. _This pattern became quite familiar with the young man as he crouched down on all fours, scrubbing the smooth tiled surface of his kitchen floor about three times until he was perfectly satisfied with his hard work. So after cleaning his kitchen, he moved onward to his living room, then his bedroom, the guest bedroom, and last but not least, both of his bathrooms. Altogether, cleaning Michael Mizanin's house took up about three to four hours up in his day that he could've spent relaxing. But hey, it was for a good cause, right?

Luckily for the man at work, it was only 10:34 in the morning and John wasn't expected to show up for at least another four hours. This gave Michael plenty of time to take himself a well deserved shower and spend the next couple of hours preparing himself for this quite intriguing visit from his tag team partner. So, that's just what he proceeded in doing as he made his way into the master bathroom, turned up the television in his bedroom, and undressed himself. Once every bit of clothing he had been previously wearing, which was just a pair of gray sweatpants, a white undershirt, and his plaid boxers, was off of the muscular man's body, he opened his beige shower curtains and stepped inside his shower/tub system.

Surely, since Michael was feeling nervous enough for a group full of menstruating women, the young man's chest was met with scolding hot water whenever he turned the middle valve for warm water and the blast soared down to his feet in a scorching wave of pain. "OW-ch! _Owww!" _The poor guy quickly backed away from the running water and calmed his nerves down. _"Calm down, Mikey...think of this as a test...a true test to your sanity and patience..."_

With the sight of steaming water pouring from the silver shower head and the sound of some stupid car insurance commercial playing on his wide screen television set just one room away from him, Michael took this moment to try convincing himself that everything was going to be okay; he was just being too anxious for what would be happening just a few hours from that moment. John would be walking through Michael's front door, probably holding his title belt over his shoulder, and Michael would just simply be himself and hope that himself was good enough for his partner. Still, it was almost awkward for the younger man to be this determined just to make a good impression on a man that he would be seeing a lot of for the on-coming months...possibly years if the two men worked well enough as a team. It was one of those times that Michael reminded himself of a hormonal teenage girl getting ready for a Friday night date with some hunk in her Algebra class.

**"Don't let yourself get **_**too**_** used to feeling that way, bro..."**

Once the shower water had simmered down to more of a suitable temperature, Michael stepped under the running water and began running his hands through his now flattened head of hair. The professional wrestler grabbed the bar of soap sitting next to the halfway full bottle of Suave and began to mindlessly scrub his chest, followed by his arms, underarms, and legs. In the not so distant background of his bedroom, the sound of VH1 Classic filled his ears whenever he realized that KISS was playing on his TV. Of course, Michael found himself humming along with the lyrics.

_"I look at you and my blood boils hoot! I feel my temperature rissse!"_

While his mind set more with the song in his bedroom, Michael continued to thoughtlessly scrub his stomach with the same bar of soap as the lathered water trickled passed his crotch and down his tough thighs. With his left hand, he gently rubbed the lathered fluid over the slightly hairy patch just above what distinguished himself as a male.

_I want it all, give me what you got..."_

Once he was finished rinsing and lathering his muscular yet petite physicique, he set the bar of soap back where he had originally grabbed it from and switched it out with the bottle of shampoo.

_"There's hunger in your eeeyes..."_

He popped open the container and squirted a small amount into his right palm.

_"I'm getting closer, baby hear me breeeathe! You know the way to give me what I neeeed! Just let me love you and you'll never leeeave..."_

It was about this point in the song that Michael had already lathered his hair with the sweet scented Suave and could no longer resist an urge that had hit him since the song had started; he hopped up, legs spread equally slant, and he took the now closed bottle of shampoo and sang into it like a microphone. _"Feel my heat, takin' you higher...Buuurn with me! Heeaven's on fire!" _The naked man then began to shake his hips with the rhythm of the song as his voice grew louder. _"Paint the sky with desire! Angel fly! Heeaven's on fire!"_

**"*facepalm*...idiot."**

Was it idiocy, or was it just a clever way of getting his nerves out of his system? Michael, at the time being, much rather preferred the second out of the two. It didn't matter if he was singing in key or off key; he was jamming! Let the man be!

_"I got a fever ragin' in my heeeart! You make me shiver and shake..." _At this point in the song, Mikey began to feel a lot like Tina Turner as he swung his hips and stepped forward and backward. _"Baaaby don't stop, take it to the top, eat it like a piece of caaake..." _So finally after all of that silly cavorting, Michael's hopping around caused the wet bar of soap to slip back onto the floor with the running water and the professional wrestler ended up stepping on it in the middle of singing. _"You're comin' closer, I can hear you bre-_eeeeeeeeeeathe!"

Yes, the exaggerated lyric was the grown man slipping on the bar of soap and falling back on his bare ass. _"Ooof!" _Once the startled young man looked forward and spotted the shiny bar of soap sliding towards him, he grabbed it mid-motion and held it up. His eyes shifted into an angry expression as the awkward man glared at the hygiene product.

"I don't like you." After a moment, Michael gently set the bar of white soap back to where it originally would've been and returned to his feet so he could continue bathing in silence and tranquility. Not long after, Michael was finally finished being naked and stepped out of the shower/tub system and wrapped a towel around his waist, followed by bending down and wrapping another towel around his damp head of hair. Right after Mikey was covered in terms of dripping hair and private areas, the sound of his house phone ringing caught his attention and he stepped into his bedroom and turned the volume down on his wide screen. Afterwards, he performed almost a light jog into his kitchen and answered the ringing wall phone.

"Hello?"

_"Yeah hey, is this Mike?"_

"You has him. Who may I ask is calling?"

_"It's John, dude."_

Michael bit his lip in excitement.

"Hiya. Am I still expecting you to arrive later?"

Michael heard a slight sigh on the other end.

_"Naw, I just got called in by Mr. McMahon to date his daughter. Of course you're still expecting me, dumbass."_

A wide smile spread across the face of the dumbass himself.

"Ah, so Vince called you in to get your ass kicked by his son-in-law, Paul?"

_"Tch-I'd own 'H' anyday of the week."_

"Oh really? I'd like to see you try, Johnny boy."

_"One day, little child. One day. But for now, I have to deal with amateur pricks like you."_

Michael chuckled at his partner's playful rudeness.

"Watch yourself, son. If you continue being that mean, you won't get the last cookie out of the jar like the other children have."

_"What? Last cookie-what?"_

Michael held back his laughter for John's sake.

"Nothing. You just get your ass over here soon, 'ight?"

_"After I piss, I'll drive over. Satisfy you?"_

"Yes. And after I stop being naked, I'll greet you. Until then, I'll be seeing you later."

_"Sounds goo-naked? What the hell you-"_

And with that, Michael hung the phone back onto the wall and let out his suppressed laughter. After his laughter had calmed and began to think out loud. "Haha-oh John...you are quite the _cutie_, aren't you?" And with that, Michael made his way back to his bedroom, unraveling the towel formerly around his head and began to rub his hair dry.

-  
I passed Junior year! YAAAAY! :D *throws confetti* Anyway, now that _that's_ out of the way, let's go on to the chapter. I'll admit now...my mind was a bit in the gutter when writing this chapter. *covers face* SHAAAAME! D: *clears throat* Ahem...forgive me. xD Now, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter. And thank you to **Bourtonfreak13** and **SILENTMUSINGS.** for reviewing the last chapter! :3


	11. Chapter 10: A Lovely Friendship

Pairings thus far: _**Minor mentionings of reluctant (ended) Miz/OCs(f) and a one-time consensual (ended) Miz/OC(m)**_

**This chapter completely goes to hell at some point. o.0 xD Guh...not much to do today. D: I may even end up writing more than one chapter today if nothing comes up, but we'll see about that as this goes on. :) Now, RAWR goes the dinosaur! *poof, you haz disappeared*  
-**

**"Goddammit, Mizanin...won't you just stop doing that with your fucking hair? Jesus Christ...I swear I'm the better part of you sometimes. Actually, I **_**know**_** I am."**

The Miz was absolutely right in the eyes of the personality he believed to be the lesser of the two: Michael Mizanin. While Mikey was too busy gussying himself up for the arrival of his tag team partner, The Miz was contemplating on how he'd prove to himself, as well as everyone else, as to how he would be the much better man out of the two and come out as the most talented individual between him and the California native. Morrison may have had the upper hand when it came to knowing all of the utterly useless, _flashy_ moves that wooed the crowd, but was that really _wrestling_? The Miz remembered back in the day whenever wrestling was still based solely on grapple moves; what happened to that? What happened to the world of wrestling that decided that the old school style was out and the retarded, new form of wowing the stupid crowd members with completely useless moves was in?

**"Probably the damn luchadores..."**

_"Miz, shut the hell up. I respect the unique style of the Latino wrestlers; they're much better competitors than _you_ are."_

**"Can it, Mizanin. You're my bitch on screen. Your relevance to existence is about as important as a can of peas."**

Strange, isn't it? How a grown man with so many fears relies on the comfort, yet torture of his alter ego? There was always a slight confusion with everybody who had known Michael in the terms of who their friend was and who wasn't. Was it the brash, unkind liking of The Miz, or the sweet, kindhearted company of Michael Mizanin? The honest answer to that was...sometimes both.

The truth was, since Michael has rather weak-hearted at times and while all the cooped up fears stored within his very heart of gold, the poor soul would often hide behind the stronger, brave side that fought through his fears like the fiercest warrior on the battlefield. Mikey had grown up practically alone back in Ohio, so he couldn't help but look at The Miz as kind of his shelter during the heaviest of downpours. The confusing part about it, Michael had a part of him that may have been proud of what Miz could do...but another part of him that absolutely despised the man. He hated that there could actually be a part of him that treated everybody around him like pawns in a dastardly chess game of destruction.

But that side of him wouldn't be showing up today.

**"Heh...why not, Mikey? Afraid I'll grope his ass or something?"**

_"Actually, yeah."_

**"Virgin."**

After he was fully sure that his hair evenly combed on the sides and sticking in the middle, Michael Mizanin examined himself one last time his bathroom mirror before he was sure that he was decent looking enough to at least give John the impression that his hygiene was well kept with. He gave a quick tug on the ends of his black, polyester suit jacket before smiling shyly into the mirror. _"Well...here goes nothing." _Almost in perfect timing, Mikey could hear a vehicle pulling up into his driveway. It sounded about like an eight cylinder vehicle; more than likely a car only a celebrity could afford.

_"John's here..." _Michael's smile may have widened, but the butterflies in his stomach only began fluttering faster. _"It's going to be alright, man...just keep your cool and be yourself. Don't let Miz come out at all and you'll be fine." _So with this in mind, the young man grabbed his WWE tag team championship belt from his dining room table and calmly made his way to his front door and opened the entrance casually. He was greeted by a cherry red, 2006 Corvette with an open driver's side door and a masculine, yet slim jean-clad leg hanging out of the vehicle.

Once the older man stepped out of the car, he closed the door, clipped his key chain onto his right pant loop, turned to his left so he was facing forward, and threw a slyly made smirk at the younger man. John was wearing a brand new pair of Calvin Klein jeans, a regular pair of tennis shoes, a black hoodie to keep him warm in the cool November air, and he had even added a little extra detail onto his outfit by arriving at Michael's house wearing his shared tag team title belt around his waist. Michael decided to break the ice by stepping outside of his house in the dark afternoon sky of the Winter season, walking towards John and his fancy car. He casually whipped his championship belt onto his right shoulder and let his left hand gently graze the hood of the beautiful Corvette. "Nice ride you have there, champ."

John nodded to the young man's statement. "Thank you..._champ_." Michael's gorgeous sky blue eyes then turned their focus from the car to John and he gave him as kindhearted of a smile that he could muster up. John focused his attention on the younger man's appearance and smirked. "You look like the textbook definition of a true douchebag."

Mikey chuckled at the long haired man's random statement and threw one in of his own. "It beats looking like the lovechild of Tarzan and Fabio." John's mouth opened as he let out a harsh "HA" to the man's retaliation. "At least _they_ won over with the ladies." Mike cocked his head to the side and replied with, "Too bad Fabio _only_ got the ladies because he was a supermodel who modeled on the covers of really bad romance novels."

John crossed his arms with a playful smile still present on his mug. "So what about Tarzan, then?" Mikey straightened his head back up. "Oh, just because Jane had raging hormones doesn't mean she actually wanted to be with Mr. Jungle Man." Mikey then raised his left index finger. "And don't even get me started on the deal with Clayton."

John couldn't help but chuckle at the younger man's random musings as he unfastened the championship belt from around his waist. "You have theories on pretty much everything, don't you?" Michael shrugged and replied honestly with, "We're living in a world where you sometimes have no choice but to have some kind of idea on even the smallest and most unimportant things." John once again nodded with the younger man's ideology. "True to that. It's better to have some kind of well thought out opinion on everything, no matter how useless it may be, rather than have a terribly thought out one for the most major of life events."

This statement of John's managed to bring a toothy grin to the face of Michael Mizanin as the younger man playfully slapped the long haired man's shoulder. "_Heeeey_...you _do_ have some deep insight on life!" Which was a major relief to the faux-hawked young man; he was beggining to worry that there was nothing more to the older man than just his pretty face. John raised his right eyebrow at his partner. "What, you thought I was a mindless loon or something?"

Mike just kind of giggled and shook his head. "No...I was just hoping that you'd be one of those fellows that it would be easy to start up conversations about nothing with." John kept his eyebrow arched as he gave Michael an awkward side smile. "About _nothing_? How can you _possibly_ manage to do that?" Michael gave John a huge, closed smile and began his master plan of confusing the hell out of his tag team partner.

"Aye, just picture a kitty trying to sink your battleship...you'll understand one day."

John stayed completely silent for a moment until spuddering out almost incoherent words.

"-what the flying _fuck_ are you talking about?"

"The furball has destroyed your carrier, Mr. Hennigan."

"What-_no_! The furball has _not_ destroyed my carrier ship! If anything, the thousand wails of hungry kittens have clawed holes in _your_ sailboat!"

"What's losing a sailboat to losing not only your battleship, but also your Carrier ship?"

"Um, how about the army of three thousand unspayed tomcats spraying all over your Submarine, thus causing it to overflow from all of the extra liquids and, finally, sinking!"

"_Oh yeah?_ How about my Carrier ship, which is still sailing, crashing into _your_ Submarine and creating a large explosion that my ship is completely safe from thanks to its non-explosive, steel construction?"

"Ha! Too bad that plan FAILS whenever my Submarine transforms into another Carrier ship!"

"Oh? Chuck Norris became a ship?"

"You better believe it, baby!"

"But not even Chuck Norris can outlast against Mecha Harrison Ford!"

"Tch-Harrison Ford has nothing on Chuck."

"Wanna bet on that?"

"What exactly is the entire point behind this discussion?"

"Absolutely _nothing_! Now do you understand how you can talk about nothing?"

John's mouth stayed gaped open as he began scratching the side of his head in his total stupor. "..._N-No_! Not at _all_!" At this time, Michael burst out laughing so hard that he had to hold his stomach tightly with his arms to avoid losing breath from his lungs. "Oh-ho-oh my God; I can't breathe!" As John stood in total utter confusion, he couldn't help but feel the need to laugh at his own demise after hearing the cheerful laughter of his tag team partner.

This friendly between two coworkers lasted for about a minute or two before finally simmering down. John used his right index finger to wipe away a tear drop that had begun to form in his eye socket. "You're definitely a funny one, dude. I respect that very much." Michael smiled shyly at the older man and thanked him. It was at that moment that Michael had realized that John wasn't as stone cold of a person as he had come across as not to mention another thing Mikey found himself admiring greatly about the man; he had the cutest laugh he had ever heard in his entire life. He had heard this laugh before, but only until that very moment had he really grown to admire it.

So the two men stood in silence in the front yard of Michael Mizanin's lovely home in Los Angeles. Michael continued to smile at the other man and, to avoid making it an awkward moment of nothing but just smiling, Michael finally spoke again. "Shit, how rude of me! I haven't invited you into my home yet! I'm sorry; come on in. Follow me." John did as he was told and followed the faux-hawked man into his expensive home. Benefits of being a WWE Superstar, right?

Once stepped into the home of his new acquaintance, John took a steady look around the living room. He first noticed the nicely decorated rug in front of Michael's television set (nicely decorated red swirls with black and orange circles. A very unique piece of art, certainly). Next, he saw the luxuriously created sofa sitting in plain view (the one place Michael spent quite a lot of time just thinking and daydreaming until he'd be forced to get ready for work). Then last, but not least, John spotted the random photos sitting on Michael's bookshelf; one photo with three children smiling in the afternoon sun, another of a little boy standing beside a woman who looked to be about possibly in her late thirties (John supposed that the boy was Michael with his mother, cousin, aunt, or whoever since the same little boy was also pictured in the previous photo), and another one of Michael posing like a moron with a bunch of other guys (probably an old college photo). To say the least, John was impressed with just the living room as of so far.

"Wow, Mizanin; you really know how to keep up with a household. I'm sure you'll make a _wonderful_ housewife one day." Mike pointed at John's head and came back with, "Says the guy with the _fabulous_ long head of hair." John rolled his eyes. "Yeah yeah...get your ass back in the kitchen and make me a sandwich." Michael scoffed at the older man. "How about _no_? How about...I sit my ass down on this lovely couch and you join me?"

It sounded like a pretty good deal with John and the two both sat down next to one another on Michael's beautiful blue sofa. To avoid total silence equaling to boredom, Michael reached for the remote sitting on the flat, glass table in front of him and John's laps and pressed his button down on the power button. The TV popped on and the screen lightened up to reveal a Simpsons re-run that was about halfway over. Seeing that this was two men and therefore were less picky about what shows they watched on television, the two tag team champions decided to sit there and watch the rest of the episode, laughing and carrying on with the jokes used in the episode. This was the major thing that the two men seemed to enjoy about each others' presence; they could get away with feeling like children and not feel remorse for it.

Once a commercial break had come, the room went back into silence. One thing about men is that awkward silences were almost promised in certain circumstances. Only if they have been friends for about as long as at least one year would the room be filled with nonstop noise. Then finally, John took a moment to examine the belt over his shoulder. "Look at this, Mikey...this treasure that you and I hold...we earned these babies together."

Mikey took the belt that had been harboring over his own shoulder and set it on top of his lap. He closely examined the rich textures of the golden face plate, the luxurious leather fabric of the belt's flaps, and the largely noticeable golden plate at the bottom of the face plate that had the words "THE MIZ" engraved in widely noticeable view. Even though Mikey had never known the experience before and never would, he still imagined that this would probably feel similar to seeing the birth of your child. To see something so...so _beautiful_...something he and John had achieved together...it was truly an amazing feeling to have felt. It was a phenomenon that Michael hoped he would feel again one day; whether it be with John or not. Although...Mikey wouldn't of minded if his next time _was_ to be with John Morrison.

All he knew was that it was a moment in him and John Hennigan's life that neither man would ever forget. Michael took a quick look at John, seeing that he was just in as deep of thought as he was. John finally escaped from his trance and looked into the determined eyes of Michael Mizanin. At that moment, both men clutched on to their titles and held them up above their heads, facing each other as friends in full glory of the teamwork they used and would continue using throughout the rest of their reign as WWE Tag Team Champions. And rest assured, this wouldn't be the first time they'd ever do this...as friends _or_ enemies.

-  
I sure hope that the ending to this chapter didn't come across as too cheesy or anything! D: Anyway...it's fucking hot in this house. T.T *cough* OH! Also I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! *gets pelted with rocks* _Whaaaaaaat?_ Also, a very special thanks to **Bourtonfreak13** for reviewing! :D


	12. Chapter 11: A New Year's Visitor

Pairings thus far: _**Minor mentionings of reluctant (ended) Miz/OCs(f) and a one-time consensual (ended) Miz/OC(m)**_

**Numero dos! :D For the day, anyway. This'll probably be published about a week after I write it. Gives a lazy bum like myself more time to do nothing but sleep. XD Well actually, since school break is only like...two...three months long, I'll probably start posting two chapters a week instead of just one. :) Besides, if I possibly get a part time job over the summer break like I'm hoping I do, it would be a good idea to write these ahead of time, anyway. So far, one place might possibly call me because they e-mailed me saying that my application's been sent out to all of the towns I've applied for, so I'm crossing my fingers! Thankfully, my application doesn't expire until August. :) Anyway, ONWARDS!  
-**

**Los Angeles Airport, Two Days Shy Of New Year's Eve, 2007**

Well, the time of revelations and new resolutions to the new year were now being made as the end of the two thousand and seventh year after the death of Jesus Christ was coming in just a few days time from the next moment Michael had envisioned within his brain. For Michael Mizanin, 2007 had been both a terrible _and_ terrific year for him and he was almost disappointed to see it go away and become nothing more than a memory. But what could he do; life goes on whether you're ready for it or not and other than defending his WWE Tag Team Championship belt with his partner and now close friend, John Hennigan (aka John Morrison), Michael chose to be ready for any challenges the year 2008 had in store for in. As long as he rose above the biggest of obstacles, he'd be fine. Unfortunately, he didn't quite realize just how hard some of 2008's obstacles would be to overcome at that moment in time...

But current time Michael Mizanin didn't want to think about that just yet. Even though time for the entire arena was pretty much flying by, Michael still wanted to savior some of his better moments while he slowly died in the eyes of millions of blood thirsty followers watching with an uncontrollable lust in their brains. He desperately wanted to grab hold of the greater memories he had experienced first before they led to where he was currently at. For example, there was a reason why he had chosen to remember _two days before_ New Year's of 2007. And this reason, ladies and gentlemen, was now making her way to the baggage claim of Los Angeles' main airline, but not before spotting an obviously familiar face smiling and waiting for her to get off her plane.

Like all young adults during this time of year, Michael wanted to feel that warm, special feeling that one could only feel by being around their loved ones. So, to accommodate perfectly with his work schedule, Michael invited the one person that he had felt so crushed whenever he couldn't visit her for Christmas thanks to his hectic work schedule just a few days ago. That was one of the major downsides about working in the WWE; you couldn't see the most cherished people in your life as much as you'd like to. But that mattered not right now, for the 5'4, hair just beginning to lighten woman was drawing closer to the man who considered her to be the only woman he had ever loved in his whole lifetime of living. And, looking at the 27 year-old man with her sky blue eyes, the lady smiled a heartwarming smile; a mother can always tell which strapping young man was her little boy at one point in their life.

Once Michael had seen the beautiful smile on her face, his face lit up and he held his arms out for her. The going-on-50 year old woman quickly made her way towards her son and wrapped her arms lovingly around his shoulders after he had bent down enough for her to reach him, followed by him wrapping his arms around her. She could feel a single teardrop starting to form in her left eye as she held on to her child tightly. "Mikey...my baby; it's been _too_ long." Michael could feel his heart tingling with that warm feeling that he had missed for long...so long he had gone without the love and comfort of any of his family members; it touched him so much to finally be able to feel the comfort of his mother's presence to temporarily take his worries away once more.

"I've missed you so much, Mom..." The mother and son finally let go of each other to wipe the single teardrops that had formed in both of their beautiful, blue eyes. The short, older woman smiled at her baby boy."My, you sure have grown, haven't you?" He smiled down at her while she gently grazed his muscular arms. "And _stronger_, too."

Michael chuckled lightly and responded with, "Well, I don't know about _that_, but...yeah." She smiled up at her son and touched his cheek. "Still modest as always...I find it funny that they can turn such a sweet boy into an egotistical prat on TV." Mikey shrugged. "What can I say? It's my career."

She removed her palm from his cheek slowly. "As long as you never grow into that kind of person in real life." Mikey chuckled again. "Trust me on this one, Mom; I have no intention of _ever_ becoming like that pompous ass." The older woman smiled and began looking around her.

"So...think you would mind helping me find my luggage?" Michael smiled and turned to his right. "Of course not. It's just down this way. Follow me." The two family members made their way casually over to the overly crowded baggage claim area, where not only people from Parma were butting in to get their crap, but people from _everywhere_ were just simply clusterfucked in the huge space. Michael considered themselves lucky that he had managed to quickly locate his mother luggage before some jackass could've grabbed it.

Once the baggage was received, the two headed on to the parking lot in search of Michael's black Escalade and seeing that this was the Los Angeles Airport's parking lot, it was quite a hassle to find just one vehicle. Even though California didn't see snowfall very often, the Winter time could still bring very brisk days and Michael was relieved that his mother was wearing a jacket in the cold weather. After going though about three levels randomly pressing his automated car alarm, Michael located his trustworthy Essy and popped open the trunk. He turned around to face his mother and held his hand out. "Here Mom, I'll pack it back here for you."

The woman handed her son her bags while adding in the comment, "Son, you don't have to do that. I'm not _totally_ old yet; I can do it myself." Her son gave her an assuring grin and responded to her with a calm, "Mom, I insist. I haven't seen you in God knows how many years because of my hectic schedule and I think I should let you have a break, you know?" The woman smiled at her child and gratefully handed him her final bag before he pulled the trunk back down to close. Mikey opened the driver's door and entered the car while his mother did the same on the passenger side. Mikey turned the ignition key and the motor sounded as it should.

He pulled the emergency brake down and put the car in reverse. He looked over his shoulder and saw that he had a minor blind spot a little to his left. "Mom, is it safe to go? A little your way, I can't see very well." She looked over her shoulder and quickly turned back. "Yep, you're good."

Mikey kept his sights on the back as he began to steadily back out of his parking space. Once he was fully out, he set the car into drive, turned the wheel to his right, stepped on the gas, and drove on out. "Well Mikey, I'm proud that you aren't like some of these crazy drivers around here." Mikey chuckled and graciously thanked her, but kept his eyes on the road. The truth was that while Michael was considered a 'safe driver', he did have his moments whenever he'd get caught speeding and he'd be given a ticket. Of course, it was always The Miz behind the wheel whenever this would happen; Michael Mizanin actually knew how to obey traffic laws.

On the way back to Michael's house, discussion between the mother and son ensued.

"So how's Roger doing? Why didn't he wanna to come over here?"

"Oh well, you know Roger; he has to be at work or else the boss will be at his throat."

"Yeah, I know the feeling."

"It must be very hard to work a job like that, Michael. How do you manage to pull it off?"

"Well, it's not an easy job; that's for sure. I'm sore all the time and everybody thinks I'm a total douchebag despite not even personally knowing me. But you know...it's a living."

"Fuck those people, Michael. If they haven't even met you, they have no right to talk down about you like that. Why, I bore and raised you and I know for a _fact_ that you are most certainly _not_ a douchebag. In fact, you are probably the sweetest, most gentle young man I've ever met and I'm proud to say that my son is that kind of man."

"You're just saying that..."

"No, I'm not just saying it. You oughta know me enough to know that I _never_ say things just 'to be saying it'."

Michael couldn't help but smile at that statement, but he continued on.

"Tell that to the people who think my self-promoting interviews are actually real."

"Again, fuck those people. They can't judge somebody just by how he acts on TV."

"Thank you, Mom."

"It's nothing; I'm just speaking the truth."

Luckily, Michael didn't really live that far from the airport and so the rest of the drive, which was only another three to five minutes, was enjoyed in peaceful silence as the 27 year-old professional wrestler drove his mother to the house he stayed sleeping within whenever he wasn't working his ass off in the four sided ring. At least the job wasn't considered 'slaving to the grind' in his own eyes; he could've been working with his father in his burger shop, flipping patties for a living, feeding off of a minimum wage, and going into bankruptcy. Michael was a free spirit that refused to be tied down to a job that he knew he didn't want and he made the decision to follow his dreams like any regular person would do. Nobody thought he could do it, nobody thought they'd ever see little Mikey inside a wrestling ring...but he showed them. He showed them _all._

**"Too bad your father is so fucking ashamed of you now that he hardly ever calls you anymore. But you know something...at least he still loves you. There are worse things about you that he could hate you over...and dare I say that he wouldn't even shed a single tear at your funeral if he even showed up in the first place knowing those things."**

Once the two family members finally arrived to Mikey's home, they opened their doors and exited the black Escalade. "Michael, I'm amazed. _Look_ at this place you have here!" Michael popped open the trunk and lifted it fully open. "Just wait until you make it inside; _then_ you'll be saying more." Before Mikey grabbed the bags, he tossed his keys for his mother to catch. She caught them successfully and she began to examine the pieces of metal.

"Which one is for your house?" Mikey walked over towards his mother, looking at his key chain, and touched one of the keys with his left index finger. "This one with the little vine design on the sides." She nodded, thanked him, and headed her way for Michael's double-doored entrance. She located the house key, stuck it into the shiny metal keyhole, and turned.

Needless to say, Michael was absolutely right about her reaction towards the _inside_ of his house as he held one bag under his right arm and carried the other two with his fists, following his mother into the building. She held her palms to her cheeks and stood in absolute awe of what her son has been able to afford with his paycheck. "Oh...my..._God_. Michael...this is...this is..." Michael looked down at his mother. "Incredible?"

She looked up at her son, palms still occupying her face. "..._breathtaking_!" Her hands dropped to her sides and she slowly walked further into her wealthy son's living room. Mike stared at his mother's amazement and finally spoke again. "I'll just put these in the guest room just down the hall to your right. Third door to the left. I'll be back in a sec."

The professional wrestler headed on down the hall, listening closely just in case his mother had any comments for him. Once he reached the third door on the left, he placed one bag down on the floor carefully and turned the knob with his right hand. Once the door came open, he bent down to grab the bag he had originally laid on the floor and he carried the bags into the guestroom. The guestroom was a nicely decorated extra for the house, indeed. Of course, Michael didn't want to decorate it _too_ much since nobody liked the same exact things as everybody else. He wanted to make sure it was a room that fit everybody's personal tastes.

After he left the room, he closed the door behind him and headed back his mother's way. "Everything doin' alright, Mom?" Once he saw her, he stopped for a second. She looked to have been examining one of Michael's framed photos closely in her hands, deep thoughts trailing through her experienced mind. Once the young man began on his feet again, he realized that she was examining an old portrait of him and her together a few years after her dreadful divorce from his father.

He repeated his question for her and she looked up at him. She sported a loving smile across her face and she carefully placed the photo back on his bookshelf. "Everything's going fine. Just sentimental memories going through my head is all." Her eyes then began looking Michael's college picture sitting next to the portrait and she sighed. "You've grown up so fast, son. It just seems like last month that I was holding you in that hospital bed back in Parma, last _week_ that you began preschool, and yesterday that you went off to college." The woman chuckled for a second and continued with, "The day that you have children, I'm sure you will feel that same way as I do and you'll understand."

Michael gave the woman a weak smile and put his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure I will...one day." He took his hand off her shoulder and his mother turned to face him. "Speaking of...is there a young lady that I'm expecting to meet while I'm over here in California?" Michael chuckled and shook his head. "Nope. Still haven't found the right one yet."

His mother smiled again and took a seat on his couch. "Don't feel bad, son...I'm sure the right woman will come along faster than you think. When the time is right, you'll know who she is. And I have faith you'll make her a wonderful husband one day." Michael forced a smile for his mother as he turned around to face the kitchen. "You just got here, mind if I make us a cup of coffee?" She let out a happy sigh as she responded with, "Not at all. I've been _dying_ for a cup all day." Michael nodded and headed for the kitchen.

Mikey felt terrible for not telling his mother the actual reason as to why he didn't have a girlfriend, but how could he tell somebody that loved him with all of her heart and would just be so ashamed of him if he ever did? Michael knew that he was supposed to be able to tell her everything, but it just wasn't that easy. It wasn't like he could just walk up to her casually and say, "Hey Mom, guess what...I'm gay!" and then expect her to just accept that as if nothing had ever been said. And Michael didn't _dare_ want to think about how his father would react to that. Michael had always been raised believing that homosexuals were an abomination of God and, even though he personally didn't have a problem against gays, he still had a major problem with _himself_ being gay. So he just lived life making everything up...lying...pretending like nothing was abnormal about him whenever he knew that there was.

But, Michael didn't want to be reminded of that right now. At that moment, all he wanted to think about was him and his mother drinking coffee while talking about the old days. She stayed at his house for a few days until he had to return to work and, even though she couldn't stay long, he was glad that he could see her again. He had even promised her that he would come over for now on for Thanksgiving and Christmas as long as he could get off time to do so; he would definitely try to. She would be flying home, relieved to know that her son was alright, and would return to her loving husband at home.

And Mikey would be back on the old grind; traveling across the planet, defending his gold with his reliable partner while his mother watched him all the way from Ohio. She'd be so proud of the things he would accomplish and he'd be the honorable son that had a family who still loved him. But only for a while; he didn't know what would lurk around in the corners of the future. He went so long protecting himself and obsessing over how everyone saw him...who was he to know that it would always work? He _refused_ to believe that it wouldn't work and his stubbornness towards the matter would either help him in his life...or completely tear him apart.

-  
I hate the overly hot weather in my house...too bad there's no air conditioning. Dx *turns on nearest fan* Not much of a help, but it'll do. *coughs* Ahem...anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Special thanks to **booxradley**, **Bourtonfreak13**, and **Anon** for reviewing! :3


	13. Chapter 12: Smoke Off in Wilkes Barre

Pairings thus far: _**Minor mentionings of reluctant (ended) Miz/OCs(f) and a one-time consensual (ended) Miz/OC(m)**_

**It's one those moments right now where I really, REALLY want to write something fluffy, so I may have a wee bit of fluff for you in this chapter (not a lot though...most of the fluff won't happen until a little later in the story. D: Sorry!). So anyway...let's see if that happens! :) It's like 2:34 in the morning right now, so I probably won't make it very far until I save and 'X' out of this and continue whenever I've gotten enough sleep. xD  
-**

**Outside Wilkes-Barre's arena before an ECW event, early 2008**

"I hope for John's sake that that little fucker, Mizanin, doesn't get him seriously hurt by failing to perform a simple move."

"Yeah really; that little bastard must've licked one of the executives' cunts to even get a job on screen in the first place."

"Tell me about it...what a fuckin' _douche_. No wonder nobody likes him..."

These were the random voices of Phillip Brooks and Matthew Hardy as the two, irked superstars slowly walked past the (self–proclaimed) "Greatest Tag Team of the 21st Century" sitting calmly beside one another on the side of the WWE arena within Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania. It was only an approximate amount of four hours until the two men would be inside that very building, battling it out with their current rivals, which had been the oddly formed tag team of Jimmy Wang Yang and Shannon Moore, in a '15 Minutes of Fame' match. What exactly is a '15 Minutes of Fame' match, you ask? Well, it was originally a segment created by John Hennigan's on-screen persona, John Morrison, in which a superstar would have to either defeat Morrison in under the given time or last out without being defeated in order to receive a title shot at the title Morrison had held at the time, the ECW Championship belt. Of course this segment eventually ended whenever CM Punk finally defeated John Morrison at his own challenge, but it was eventually revived once again by John Morrison and his faithful companion, The Miz, for their tag team titles.

Yes, it was a brilliant idea by the two men that the writers allowed, but it was just a shame that nobody had hardly any faith in the team itself. It wasn't John's fault-oh no, it was _never_ John's fault...it was always Mikey who brought in all the negative publicity. The two hadn't even been a team for more than four (or even five) months and already people looked down upon the champions just because one of the members was a former Reality TV star. John Morrison was the one with all of the talent according to the guys in the back and the fans eagerly blogging on the internet; Miz was the talentless hack who didn't even deserve to live at the rate some of the rabid fans spewed hatred at him. And, of course, this cliche' wouldn't end for a very, _very _long time for the young Ohio native.

However, The Miz could handle all the negative publicity and even thrived on it at times; Michael Mizanin, on the other hand, took it as painful stabs to the heart. He wanted to be a great competitor, he wanted to be a respected wrestler, he wanted to make it far in the business...but how could he do that it nobody ever gave him a chance? Many people knew Mikey was hated for his alter ego, but nobody knew exactly how he, himself, felt about reading negative reviews about himself and having to deal with people constantly bashing him for his job...that is, of course, until he told John one day whenever they were casually hanging about in the streets of L.A. The question that always ran through his head whenever somebody would bad mouth him would be, _"If they hate me this much for the man I play on TV...how much _more_ would they hate me if I came out of the closet?" _This was a question that, in all honesty, scared the living hell out of even The Miz and he often refused to even think about the consequences that would follow after such a horrible decision being made.

**"I actually want to try **_**liking**_** my life and you've already fucked that up enough for me by figuring out that you're a cock sucking son of a bitch; **_**don't**_** fuck it up anymore for me, Michael. Nobody has to know **_**anything**_** as far as I'm concerned..."**

These thoughts all seemed to just swarm around within the compounds of the fragile mind that belonged to a Mister Michael Mizanin as he finally caved in to John's request to smoke a cigarette with him before the show. "Just trust me on this, Mikey; this'll calm your nerves down just enough to be ready for tonight's show with no troubles at all." Michael hesitated for a moment, but decided to just say "Fuck it" to his lungs for a night and took it from his friend. John grabbed one from his Marlboro box and stuck it in between his lips. Michael did the same thing and waited for John to light his cancer stick up before he'd be given the lighter.

Michael heard the quick _click_ from the lighter and the light of John's fiery second-hand smoke stick caught his eye. John handed the younger man the blue lighter and the fire clicker was taken from him soon after. Mikey held the lighter up to the end of his cigarette, clicked the flame to visibility, and lit the end of his cancer stick on fire. Even though the punky 27 year-old didn't smoke on a regular basis, he still had small cravings for a small death within his organs every time the annoying bitch fits of anxiety would viciously attack him. It may cause him to have a horrible case of Leukemia one day, but he didn't care; it wasn't like he'd ever have a spouse or child that would miss him.

John took a quick puff on his cigarette before temporarily removing the stick from his lips to release the deadly toxins from his mouth. "I wonder if anybody else had that same asshole over at airport that tried to throw his luggage at them...I swear, if it weren't for me being too nice of a guy, I would've fucked his face with my fist." Michael removed the cigarette from his lips and exhaled the light smoke behind his teeth. "It was just some prick who thinks wrestling is real, was all...he actually tried to beat my head over with his carrier bag. If it hadn't been for security finally throwing him out, I would have a bloody nose right now." John chuckled and stuck the cancer stick back in between his lips. "You sh-ay so?"

Michael nodded slowly as he, too, placed his cigarette back in between his lips for a brief moment before removing it again. John spoke between his cigarette for the next sentence before removing the stick from his mouth. "Not like it would affect you much anyway; you're already brain damaged enough." Michael returned the cancer stick to it original place in between his lips and replied with, "Thanks a lot, asshole." John chuckled slowly as he removed the white roll from between his lips. "No problem, buddy."

Soon after the comment, the two men heard a loud crash coming from the stadium's doors and the sight of an angry Shannon Moore appeared before their eyes. He spotted the two men and headed their way. "Hey, do you guys mind throwin' me one of those lung killers of yours?" Mike and John looked at one another for a brief moment and shrugged. "Sure man, you can join us if you want."

The heavily made up, sullen faced man took a seat beside John's left and yanked a cigarette from his Marlboro box. He took out his own, psychedelic textured lighter from his left pocket and lit the end of the lung threatening stick to its flame. Mike blew the smoke from his mouth forward and looked at him and his partner's new companion. "What's aching you, Shannon? The made up man took an angry glare at the fedora wearing newcomer, but laid off of him and just sighed.

"Just my girl giving me hell is all." Mike nodded as John jumped into the discussion. "What did you do?" Shannon took a long drag on his cigarette before speaking again. Once he removed the cancer stick from his curved lips, he exhaled the large amount of smoke behind his teeth and looked over at John.

"She's sayin' that I don't bring in enough money and that our mortgage hasn't paid off and all that shit. But what the hell-I bring in enough seein' that my ass is on TV every week and that's _still_ not enough for her? What the hell does she want from me?" Michael held his cigarette in between his right index and middle fingers and replied to the angry man. "Well...maybe she just wants you to reach your full potential is all. She knows that you're very capable of making more out of your career and maybe she just wants you to...you know...do that." Shannon rolled his eyes and placed the cigarette back between his lips. "Yeah...well, how exactly does she expect me to do that? The writers and Vincey don't think I'm a very talented wrestler and, as long as they feel that way, how do I expect to ever make it far in this company?"

Michael sighed and shook his head slowly. "I don't know...I'm in the same boat you are, man. If it weren't for John right here, I'd probably be a jobber right now if even on screen in the first place." John took another quick puff on his cigarette before exhaling again and responding to Mikey's comment. "Just because everybody hates you doesn't mean you won't ever be a good wrestler, Mike. I've told this before." Michael sighed and took a long drag on his cancer stick.

"Just waiting for that day, I suppose." Shannon took a curious look into the man's eyes and suddenly found himself feeling quite bad for the younger man. "Heeey, man...don't let it bother you too much, 'ight? We've all been down that same road before...you won't be trailing down it forever." Shannon removed his own lit stick of death from his lips again to exhale the smoke hidden in his gums. The more experienced superstar looked down at the ground for short moment of silence until snapping his fingers suddenly, breaking the cold silence.

"I got it; how about you an' me both make a pact right now, promisin' that we'll both improve as competitors and get the spotlight that we deserve one faithful day in our careers! Whattya say, man?" Michael looked up quickly at the older man with a hopeful smile on his face. "You got yourself a deal, Shannon." The two men bumped their knuckles together while John Hennigan just quietly watched them with intrigue. Finally whenever John decided to speak, the two other men both looked over at him.

"I swear you're like everybody's little brother, Mike." Michael removed the cigarette from his lips and rubbed the back of his head with his other hand as he exhaled his mouth's contents. "I've never actually know what it's like to have an older brother or sister, so I wouldn't know." Shannon laughed with the white cigarette hanging from his mouth and wrapped his arm around Michael's neck and used his other hand to rub his knuckle against the younger man's skull, pushing his fedora further back on his head. "You're a little twerp, that's for sure!"

Michael groaned as he held his cigarette as far away from his head and Shannon as possible, trying to escape. John laughed loudly as the sight of his younger tag team partner wiggling away from his opponent vividly caught his eyes. Shannon finally let go of Michael with a devilish grin on his lips as he removed the cigarette from his lips to exhale. Michael fixed his fedora back up only to be playfully shoved by John afterwords. "Heey!"

John flashed his partner a toothy grin as he tossed his cigarette onto the ground, crushing it with his shoe. "Whaaat? I didn't do anything." Michael rolled his eyes and placed the cigarette back in between his lips. Suddenly, the trailing voices that had been heard earlier returned as two figures exited the building and caught sight of the three men. Before they knew it, the faces of Matthew Hardy and Phillip Brooks were revealed once again.

"'ey, good luck in you guys' match later tonight." Michael flashed them a wide smile and thanked them graciously. The two men glanced at one another and Phillip spoke again once the two were staring harshly at Mikey. "Umm..._excuse me_? I was talking to the two that actually have wrestling talent; not the MTV has-been with no credibility whatsoever." Matt then piped in with his own venomous words.

"Do yourself a favor for now on, Mizanin; don't speak unless you're spoken to. You have no right to say a single word unless the script says so. Besides, nobody wants to hear your annoying voice, anyway." As hurt by the words Michael truly was, he refused to let it show as he continued to take a long drag on his cigarette. Unfortunately, the straight edge superstar noticed this all too well. "Heh, well whattya know?" Brooks took a step closer to the younger man, crouched down to be about a foot above Mikey, and rudely snatched his cigarette right out of his mouth.

The straight edge man stood back to his original height and held the cigarette up high. "Not only is Mizanin a god-awful competitor, he's _also_ a junkie!" Before the fedora wearing man could do or say anything, the long, shaggy haired back dropped the cigarette onto the gravel paved ground and crushed it with his white tennis shoe. Brooks took another look at Mikey and chuckled. "You should get that shit out of your mouth; chicks don't really dig kissing ashtrays as much as you may think they do."

John stood up tall behind Michael and angrily stared Brooks down. "Why don't you pick on somebody in your _own_ league?" Phillip laughed as Matt stepped in front of him. "Look John, this has nothing to do with you; it's that no talent hack Mike that we're against." The sudden, angry shouts from Shannon filled the air unexpectedly.

"What a way to prove how _bad_ you two are! Why don't you two just go back to the showers and take out your frustrations there?" Matt flipped Shannon the bird, causing the wild-faced man to laugh. "That's the same finger I used on Amy whenever she was still sucking you off." Matthew, with a face growing ever so dark with red, launched himself at Shannon, but failed to do anything more than throw one or two punches before being pulled back from Phillip. Once Brooks had had him pulled back, Shannon stood up onto his two feet and tossed his cigarette straight at Matthew.

"Oh _shi_-" Matthew broke away from Phillip in just enough time time dodge Shannon's cancer stick and watch it land directly to his side, barely missing him. Matthew stared at the cigarette with shock as he slowly crushed it with his foot. Phillip, trying his hardest to ignore the evil glare of Shannon Moore, focused his attention back onto Michael. "Wow, you surely are a true man, Mizanin...relying on others to take the heat for you and all."

Michael glared at the more experienced wrestler and stood up slowly to face him directly. "You know something, Phil? You never have exactly explained to me just what I've done to piss you off. You mind telling me _now_? Do I walk the wrong way? Do I talk the wrong way? Do I dress the wrong way? C'mon, Phil, just tell me what the fuck I've done wrong!" Phil chuckled a small bit before stepping even closer to the younger man. "You haven't done anything personally to me...but you pretty much do _everything_ wrong in my eyes. You don't belong here in the WWE-hell, you don't even belong on TV _period_! Just face it; you are a LOSER. You always will be and there's nothing going to change that anytime soon. Just do us all a favor now and go back where you came from; we don't want you here. _No one_ does." Whenever he could feel just the slightest hint of softening eyes, Michael took desperate measures and quickly switched into 'Miz' mode.

"Where the hell do you get off exactly, Brooks? Couldn't satisfy your woman and so you have to take all of your anger out on younger men?"

"_Excuse me_? Have you actually taken the time to ask these ladies around here? I'm a sex GOD. You ask any of these divas and they'll tell you that I'm the best they've ever had!"

"Chyeah, I'll be sure to ask your porn writer about that, thank you."

"It's fucking true and you know it! But leave it to the hack like yourself to change the goddamn subject when he knows I'm right about everything I'm saying!"

"Who are you calling a hack, you two-faced pig?"

"You're Mister Reality Star and therefore all you can actually do is just stand in front of a camera and look pretty. And you can't even do _that_ right!"

"Says the guy who botches his own fucking finisher more than he should! When's the last time you've successfully performed the GTS, Punky? Hmmm..._when_?"

"You tell me, _Mike TV_, when's the last time you've actually won a match on your own?"

After this was said, John appeared from behind Michael and threw a tough punch in Phil's face, strong enough impact to cause the man to fall to the ground. Matt let out an audible gasp, Michael's jaw dropped, and Shannon clapped his hands together in a loud, uproarious laugh as John stepped over the straight edge man and pointed his right index finger at him. "I fucking told you to leave him alone, Brooks. He doesn't deserve this bullshit from you. You understand me or do I have to hit you again?" Brooks slowly returned to his feet, holding his jaw with his left hand, and smiling at The Shaman of Sexy. "Heheh...fine, Hennigan...you win this bout."

Phil took a quick look over at the still shock faced Michael and let out an audible chuckle. "And this isn't over, Mizanin...not by a long shot." And with that, the two men headed on back into the building, thus leaving the three men back to wear they originally were. Shannon had just finished laughing before he turned to face John and give him a hard slap to his palm. "That. Was. Fucking. AWESOME!"

John laughed along with the wild-faced superstar and looked ahead at the now crushed cigarette Shannon had tossed at Matt. "I'd say throwing a fiery cancer stick at Matt Hardy is probably the best thing I've seen in a long time, man." Moore chuckled again as he stepped over to Michael and slapped his palm. "And you, my friend, are just plain awesome with your choice of insults. You're cool; I like you." Michael smiled and bumped knuckles with Shannon again.

"Heh-thanks man. And thank you for sticking up for me." Shannon patted Mikey's shoulder quickly before the sound of his phone's ringtone went off. "No problem man-hey...who's calling me?" Shannon took his phone out from his pocket and checked the caller ID. The wild-faced man groaned and answered it, covering the speaker for a brief moment.

"It's my babe; I gotta take this. See you two later in the ring." Michael and John both waved at their new friend as he headed back into the building, sternly chatting on the phone with his concerned sweetheart. Michael, who had dismissed 'Miz' mode ever since John attacked Phil, turned around to face John with a shy smile spread across his lips. "That-what you did back there...that _was_ awesome. It's been an extremely long time since anybody's stuck up for me that way...thanks John." John smiled and patted Mikey's shoulder.

"No problem, man; I get sick and tired of people picking on you like that...you don't need that shit. You haven't done anything to deserve it. Do me a favor and just ignore them for now on...alright?" Michael looked down at the ground for a brief second and looked back up at John. "I'll try." John smiled and removed his hand from Mikey's shoulder. "You're better than they are...remember that."

Michael turned away from John for a moment whenever he could feel his cheeks flushing with pink and his heart slightly beating a bit faster than it had been before. As hard as it was to believe, John truly was a sweetheart underneath all of that masculine fortitude he often expressed for his peers, fans...really just about everybody. Michael couldn't help but feel safe whenever the man was around him, sticking up for him like he just had moments ago. In the simplest terms, Michael couldn't help but feel a strong admiration for the older man. Too bad that was never a goal he ever wanted to accomplish...

**"Jesus Christ...how about we avoid letting this feeling grow anymore, shall we?"**

Suddenly, the simultaneous vibration of both Michael and John's cell phones was barely heard in the silence. The two men reach inside their pockets and freed their cellular devices long enough to see that the two men both had the same exact text message from the GM of ECW, Tommy Dreamer. It read:

_"Come by my office b4 the show. I have some good news for you 2 that I think u should listen 2."_

Michael's eyebrow arched and John closed his phone and placed it back inside his pocket. "Well, we have nothing better to do...let's just go by there right now and get it done." Michael nodded and closed his phone and held it inside his fist as he and his best friend both headed for Dreamer's office. The two men walked side-by-side and Michael took a quick glance at John before smiling and asking a rather ironic question. "I wonder what Dreamer wants to tell us...?"

-  
I'm currently up at 5:11 in the morning because I have to wake my brother up for work. DX Once this gets posted, which will take about five minutes, I'm going to bed after getting him up. *almost lulls into sleep* Before I get snoozing, I want to thank **Bourtonfreak13**, **Sierra's Darkness**, **Salem Dae**, **SILENTMUSINGS.**,and **sarah** for the reviews! :D


	14. Chapter 13: The Dirt Sheet

Pairings thus far: _**Minor mentionings of reluctant (ended) Miz/OCs(f), a one-time consensual (ended) Miz/OC(m), hints of Miz crushing on Morrison, Shannon Moore has a girlfriend, and one mention of (ended) Matt/Lita**_

**My head is killing me right now, so I gave myself a small break by **_**finally**_** writing about this. Dx I'm sure you guys saw this one coming! :D *throws confetti for the good memories* I'm currently angry with my internet for being incredibly slow, but what can I do about it? Dx I'm sorry that it's taken a wee bit longer to update this chapter; a mirage of different things this week have stalled me a bit from typing this portion of the story (hot weather making me all lazy and cranky, dentist, loved ones being too hard on themselves, etc). D: Anyways...let's get this show on the road!  
-**

**One month later...Backstage hours before an ECW event, 2008**

**"Oh yeah, baby! Now **_**THIS**_** is I'm fucking talking about! **_**THIS**_** is what '**_**The**_** Miz' is all about, bitches!"**

Hmm...wondering why The Miz is in such a chipper mood, are we? Wondering why The Chick Magnet was having such energetic dwellings within his brain? Allow yourself to figure that out now; remember the 'important news' that the ECW GM, Tommy Dreamer, had to quickly inform The Greatest Tag Team of the 21st Century of? Well...let's just say that Miz now had an excellent opportunity to take everything that had ever been said about him and shove it down everybody's throats. The chance to take every insult The Soldier of Seduction had ever received inside the WWE and shove them up everybody's asses in a wondrous act of what could only be delicately described as 'Absolute Ownage' was now the sole property of The Miz and John Morrison.

Yes, you guessed it correctly; they got their own webshow.

**"This is going to fucking RULE! Finally, a way for me and my talented tag team partner to express our own creativity for the world to see...this is unbelievable...who knew that me and John would get the most kickass way of showing off our awesome promo skills?"**

For a clearer explanation to all of this; the WWE Universe has been slightly impressed with the fine teamwork of John Morrison and The Miz (despite the thousands upon thousands of negative comments directed towards Miz's presence within the team) and the fans wanted to see what else was so special about this unique tag team...so, the writing staff suggested that the two aspiring stars be given a webshow that would broadcast on WWE's website as kind of a different angle that best suited the team's kayfabed personalities. The show would be ironically entitled "The Dirt Sheet" despite hardly anything actual to real-life facts would ever be present within the script. Also, seeing as how Miz's thought saying that the show was an excuse to show off the team's promo skills, "The Dirt Sheet" wasn't written by the WWE writing staff-oh no! This special webcast would be written by the two men themselves as a test to see how well they could entertain fans and anger haters. Of course, Mike and John had to be especially careful about what they'd write into the manuscripts each week; WWE was still rated TV-14.

**"Not that **_**that**_** matters much to me."**

_"Miz, you can't just write in _anything_ in this show; you have to think of the audience!"_

**"Oh just shut **_**up**_**, Mikey. Go finish reading your fairy-tales while I'm out here in the outside world, living mine."**

_"I still have to start everything off _before _the camera turns on."_

**"*sighs* Whatever...have your five minutes of fame."**

As the loud noise of the crew members calling out orders to get the lights positioned correctly in sync with the camera's lens, Michael Mizanin sat himself peacefully in his directer-esqe chair beside his attractive, yet ignorant best friend, John Hennigan. John was wearing his favorite designer jacket with faded red edges on the openings as well as the collar, shirtless underneath and Michael wore a favorite of his own; his trusty ol' black, polyester jacket with a random skull T-shirt underneath. While the two bored men waited patiently for the cameras to start rolling, John found himself using his WWE Tag Team Championship belt as a mirror to quickly gussy his hair up bit; how he'd _ache_ if his hair was off-set by just a single inch! Michael, himself, found it to be quite hilarious on how you could have a man who you'd consider to be the most masculine out of all of your current friends, but he treated his hair like a teenage prom queen who has having a drastic, bitch fit over the dirt under her nails. Of course, this odd trait of John's didn't exactly bother Michael Mizanin; he found it to be quite adorable, in all honesty.

Michael rested his chin on his left palm, which was supported by his arm sitting calmly on his kneecap, and watched the older man in fascination and amusement. "Errrg...just one...one...little strand...uggh..." Michael allowed himself to release a rather girlish (or at least girlish for _his_ standards) giggle audible enough for John to stop what he was doing and turned his head to the younger man. "What're you looking at? Can't you see I'm trying to make myself look gorgeous?" Michael flashed a toothy grin at his partner and raised his fingertips close enough to John's hair and began to playfully taunt him.

"Oh my gaaaaaaaaawd; a living force field is blocking me from the insanely pretty head of hair!"

"Haha, very cute."

"Jay-sus, Pa! It looks like the corn's grown extra tall this season! Check out the purty locks on _those_ cobs!"

"Alright Mikey, I get your point; drop the hand."

"Oh lawdy, LAWDY! Why can I has me some of that enriching field of locks for my crops?"

"Don't touch the hair."

"Abigail, I NEEDS me some of 'dat corn wheat for mah kin!"

"MIKE!"

Mikey let out a luminous laugh at his friend's reactions to his flir-err..._friendly_ annoyances. "I'm just messing, John." John groaned as the psychological surges in his brain were telling him that his hair was in desperate need of being fixed for the fifth time in the last thirty minutes. Michael tilted his head at The Shaman of Sexy and spoke his honest opinion. "John, there's really no need in worrying about your hair right now; you look great."

John silently chuckled and placed his championship title back onto his shoulder. "Thanks for telling me something I already knew." Michael rolled his eyes at his friend's blunt narcissism and smiled at the older man. "Thank _yourself _for your good looks." John flashed a quick, toothy grin at the younger man. "I always do."

**"Dammit, Michael! I said that you could have your five minutes of fame; not five minutes of flirting with your tag team partner!"**

_"I wasn't flirting with him, though! I swear on it...right?"_

**"You're an absolute moron."**

"Alright guys, ten seconds until air-time!" The two men straightened themselves up within their Hollywood styled chairs and prepared their A-game smiles for all the internet to see. Michael quickly made sure his fedora was on correctly and that his faded red bandanna wasn't loose and John straightened out his jacket one last time. The lucky part about having a webshow that you've co-written was that it would be almost impossible to fuck up the lines; especially since Mikey and John had so greatly anticipated this very moment to the point that their lines were practically embedded solidly for all eternity within their minds. Michael took one last breath before the countdown, knowing well that Miz was going to not only provide verbal commentary, but also mental commentary. **"Because you just love hearing my thoughts, Mikey."** _"3...2...1..."_

The quick sound of a hip-hop turntable sounded for a brief moment before the red light on the camera lit brightly, informing John to start the dialogue.

"Welcome to The Dirt Sheet with John Morrison and The Miz. I'm The _Shaman of Sexy_, John Morrison."

"And I'm your Chick Magnet, _The_ Miz!"

"Thanks Miz. First off, we've got the dirt on Fit Finlay, who we all know loves to fight, but apparently he also likes to dance..."

The director gave the two men a five second pause before speaking again. This was used for whenever, during editing, a random clip would be placed in between frames. Once the pause was over, Miz continued on with his best Simon Cowell impersonation that he could muster up.

"'Onestly, Finlay; dancing? _Doncing_? I'd rather wotch American Idol on Dish-na than wotch you donce. _DONCE!_ Absolutely _dreadful!"_

"We don't dance like that in The Palace of Wisdom."

** "We do **_**other**_** things in the Palace of Wisdom...or so I wish."**

_"You're sick, Miz."_

The Miz shook off his original persona's irritating thoughts and continued. "In other news, guess whose talking about Kane on the Sunset Strip?"

"Who?"

Silence stayed for a very, _very_ brief second before Miz quickly turned to Morrison shouting out, "_Nobody_! Oh _snaap_!" Suddenly, the sound effect of a doorbell ringing and a sexy woman's voice saying "Ooooh, fanmail" surfaced in the room. John faced Miz, saying, "Oh no." Miz looked to his side, upwards almost, cheerfully saying, "You know what that means?" The fedora wearing fool looked back at his partner with a goofy smile on his face and John looked back at the screen behind his designer shades.

"Another letter from our adoring fans."

**"Oh...**_**great**_**."**

The same woman's voice resurfaced, followed by a romantic jazz tune.

_"Dear Miz and Morrison,_

_I think you two are _soo_ hott. This Scientology stuff is _soo _lame. I hate L. Ron Hubbard. I'm ready to quit Scientology and start studying anatomy. Will one of you two please show me how a man over 5'8 uses his body?_

_Love,_

_Katie Holmes-Cruise"_

**"Not on your life, skank."**

John started it off again by chuckling.

"Heheh...okay..."

The Miz ignored all of his inner complaints towards John's perverted 'fan letter' that he had taken the glory in writing as the show's manuscript was being created as he cleared his throat and continued.

"Ugh..well-uh, do you blame her?"

"Absolutely not. Well next up, we all know Jesse and Festus are losers."

_"_Well_-obviously."_

"Here's something about them we _didn't_ know; Jesse-"

"Wait, is that the _short_ one?"

"Yes-"

"Or the _bald_ one?"

"The short one."

"Gotcha."

**"Never remember the guy, I swear."**

_"Miz, for the love of God, SHUT UP."_

**"I'm the one in charge here, Mikey; not you!"**

"Jesse, the short one, claims to have been abducted by aliens. Now we have Jesse via satellite."

Miz made some incoherent noise with his mouth and placed his finger behind his left earlobe as John continued.

"Jesse, is it true that you were abducted by aliens?"

The director's five second pause came before John could continue on.

"Did they experiment on you?"

Another five second pause, now being ended by The Miz.

"Hohohohohoho...did they use the anal probe?"

Five second pause that was ended by Morrison again.

"Whoa."

"Wow..."

"Sounds like you liked it."

Once again, another five second pause that was ended by Morrison.

"Guess that explains why you're only friends with a bald, fat virgin."

_**"**_**Oh**_** Hahaha..."**_

The hip-hop turntable sounded again and this gave Miz the que to start ending the show.

"Until next time, there are winners...and there are losers."

Pause ended by Morrison.

"We are the WWE Tag Team Champions; be jealous."

The hip-hop turntable noise sounded again and the red light turned off; the show was over. "Alright, that was absolutely _perfect._ _Fabulous_ job, you two! We'll just take this in and get it developed...then we'll call you two back in to help us with editing. Sound alright?" The two professional wrestlers nodded at the crew members, said their thank you's and you're welcome's, and headed on to the locker room. Michael stepped in front of John and held his hand out. "Now, was that awesome or _what_?" John roared with laughter and excitement along with his friend and slapped his palm with his own.

"Oh yeah, you know it! That had to have been the most fun I've had in at least three years!"

"Yeah-heh!"

They threw each other the same toothy grins at one another and John held up his right index finger for a brief second. "I have an idea. Whenever we return to L.A., how about you and I celebrate a job well-done by going into the city, causing mayhem, and getting possibly shit-faced?" Michael, always loving the parties (possibly because of 'The Miz', no doubt), grew an even wider grin on his face, wrapped his right arm around John's neck and shouted out, "You gotta fight-_dun_-for your riiiight-_dun_-to _PAAAAAAAAART-AY_!"

The two men laughed as they headed on to the ECW locker room to wait for the call telling them to return to the WWE staff in order to begin editing the newly filmed footage. Mike kept his arm around John's neck for a little time before realizing exactly what he was doing and removing it. As much as Miz would kick his ass for it later, Mikey would've liked to have been able to feel John's arm around his waist in an adorable, sweet type of way as he kept his arm around his strong neck. It was almost like whenever you're around your school crush and your heart starts fluttering whenever he'd either look at you or he'd talk to you. Only it was so much better in Michael's case; he was friends with his heart's infatuation.

The very thought of the situation made the 27 year-old blush lightly as he continued to walk side-by-side his tag team partner, who currently wasn't paying very much attention to Michael's face. _"Thank God...I wouldn't want to put myself in any awkward conversations..."_ Which, in all honesty, pretty much every conversation between the two men would've been considered _awkward_ by any regular human being. But, as you may know with your own friends, NOTHING is considered _too_ weird or awkward between the two of you; you're in your own little world together! This was the same deal for the 27 and 28 year-olds.

Friendship was all about being with that one of more group of people that made you feel young enough to act like a teenager, but old enough to stand by their side in their time of need. So far, John had done quite an impressive job of sticking up for Mikey whenever he needed it most; now Mikey just needed to find the right moment to make it up to the man. But when would such an opportunity come up for the young professional wrestler? Well, currently unbeknownst to Michael Mizanin, that chance would come much faster than he even realized. After all, friendship was the ultimate cure for all life's problems, right?

**"Oh...**_**friendship. That's**_** the excuse you're going to use..."**

-  
Have to make this quick; my brother keeps trying to figure out what I'm doing on the computer. D: I hope that you guys enjoyed this chapter and I will try to update soon. Special thanks to **Bourtonfreak13**, **A Fan**, **Salem Dae**, and **booxradley** for reviewing! :D


	15. Chapter 14: Genuinely Crazy

Pairings thus far: _**Minor mentionings of reluctant (ended) Miz/OCs(f), a one-time consensual (ended) Miz/OC(m), hints of Miz**__** crushing on Morrison, Shannon Moore has a girlfriend, and one really small mention of (ended) Matt/Lita**_

**Okay, I've been a lazy bum lately. DX I've been having more ideas on the events that are planned to happen LATER in the story other than what's happening next, but that doesn't exactly mean that I haven't put any thought in what's to happen beforehand. To be honest, I know full well what I want to happen next...I'm just being lazy when it comes to actually writing it. XD It took a little bit to get me to write this one, but I finally got it done after I pretty much jotted down some ideas for the next couple of chapters and put a few of them to use in this chapter. :) Anyways, enjoy!  
-**

**Michael's House, 2008**

Yea, tis now the time for celebration! Now is the time for much needed praise for well-done work in the media as The In-Crowd themselves, John Morrison and The Miz (aka John Hennigan and Michael Mizanin) have just returned to The City of Angels after being on a long plane flight from not only wrestling on live TV, but shooting the first ever episode of their web cast, The Dirt Sheet. And as if having their own web show in the first place wasn't enough; Michael had received a call from Jomo himself informing him that he'd received an e-mail from one of the web administrators from WWE's website ecstatically telling The Shaman of Sexy that the first episode of their show had already received almost a million viewers in just the two days it had been posted up. Now can you say _impressive_? That best answer for that would be a yes, most definitely.

So what better way for The Dirt Sheet Duo to celebrate a job well done than going out together into L.A to spend a day of making fools of themselves and possibly going to a club and getting shitfaced and sorry in the morning? Well there was probably a less consequential way of going about it, but the two men didn't really care. Like most men on the face of this planet, Miz (yes, Miz; Mikey had a different opinion on the matter) was under the impression that best way to do anything was the hardcore, dangerous way that would leave him potentially scarred or badly ill in the morning. Of course, Michael was more down-to-earth than The Miz was and actually had enough common sense to know that certain things done would hurt him and other things would not hurt him; too bad he listened to The Miz more often than he did himself at times like this. Then there was the preference of John Hennigan...well, he didn't care really what he and Mikey would do; as long as he enjoyed himself and stayed beautiful for any cameras nearby.

_"He maybe vain at times...but I know he has a heart underneath that tough, narcissistic appearance of his."_

**"Yeah, it's called his penis."**

_"Dammit, that's not what I meant!"_

After Mikey had finished zipping the opening of his jeans back up, he pressed the white lever on his white porcelain downward to hear it flush away his unwanted bodily fluids that had previously left. He walked over to his sink mirror, which hung about a foot above the brass faucets, and checked himself over one last time before being picked up by his best friend. His right hand gently glided across the side of his jaw and he heaved a deep sigh. _"Why's it so hard for me to grow facial hair? The most I'll ever grow is a little stubble and that's about it. And even then, it makes me look like either a drug lord or a pedophile. Probably both."_ He lifted his nostrils for a moment and lifted his chin upward to see how the insides of his nose looked, to be sure they didn't make him look like a cave dweller.

_"*sigh* Dammit, I forgot; I get nose hairs, too."_ Luckily for the young man, he didn't usually grow a lot of hair inside his nostrils and, therefore, he could easily get rid of them in a matter of a minute or less. With this being said, Mikey grabbed his electric nose hair trimmer and plugged it into the power outlet in his wall. He knew that he could easily just pluck them out manually, but Michael was a little on the lazy side that day and didn't want to deal with the burden in that fashion. _"Besides, it stings either way it goes; what's the difference?"_

He flipped the 'on' switch up and the device began to rattle quietly. He stared at the mechanism for a moment before he slowly raised the tip up into his right nostril. The rattling rapidly turned into a loud buzzing noise as Michael flinched back in pain. "Ahh-ch!" He removed the device from his nostril and raised into the opposite nostril only to do the exact same thing. "Oooow!"

**"**_**Smooooth**_**...and you call yourself a professional wrestler."**

_"_You're_ the one that's in the ring every week, Miz."_

**"Shut up."**

Michael flipped the 'off' switch, the device's rattling stopped, and he set it back on his bathroom counter top. The handsome young man took one last look at himself in the mirror and decided that he was satisfied with his appearance enough to leave the restroom and finish getting ready to leave his expensive, California home. He stepped the very next room over where his closet stayed and he opened the single door. John was expected to arrive any moment now and Mike wouldn't dare leave his house with his trademark fedora and bandanna; that would be simply ludicrous and unjustly towards his in-ring character's reputation! Well, at least for now until this whole "Chick Magnet" gimmick would come to a well-awaited end.

He spotted his hat hooks (aka, what Michael called the hooks stuck into his closet wall that was divided into three rows of his prestigious collection of ultra-stylish, yet tacky hats) and he glided his fingers across the first row, fingertips barely touching the tips of each. "Hmm...which one of you lovelies should I wear for John today?" he whispered under his breath. As of that moment in a heated debate within the young man's choosing, Mikey was currently torn between either wearing his regular, jet black fedora with no actual designs present, or his slightly newer fedora of the same color, but a small, trip belt decoration wrapped around the hat's top. The professional wrestler grabbed both possibly choices and held them parallel with one another. "Let's see...should it be you?" He lifted the plain black hat up closer to his face and the turned to look at the other choice, lifting it to make the two exactly aligned perfectly against one another. "Or _you_?"

**"Ughhhh...just pick a damn hat, Mike."**

With this being said, Michael ultimately decided to pick the trip belted fedora and he set the rejected headpiece back on its silver hook. "You'll do the job today just fine. Now...what _threads_ will you be sporting for today?" The stylish male turned his head to the stack of bandannas that rested atop a smooth, wooden end table. He placed the fedora next to the stack and, like with the row of hats, Mikey moved his finger down the stack slowly as he closely examined each fabric (luckily he had folded them to appear just thick enough to tell what color and design was present on each). In lesser time, he placed his left hand on top of the stack and used his right fingers to gently pull out the black and white bandanna he'd usually only wear out in town (a favorite of his, nonetheless).

"_Yeeeah_...you'll make me look all pretty today." Suddenly, a random thought came across Michael's head that caused the man to chuckle and smile shyly to himself. "...at least for John, anyway." The young man felt his face grow a little warmer as he grabbed the fedora again made his way back into his fancy restroom. He stopped in front of his mirror and once again set the hat down on the sink counter.

First, he unfolded the bandanna and proceeded in the right steps to wrapping it around his forehead. _"Gangsta, gangsta...god-every time I do this...ugh, I fail." _Once he finally tightened the ends of the dark cloth on the side of his head, Mike's hands dropped to his sides and he made a face at the mirror. Then, out of nowhere, he threw his hands up and started doing weird, hip-hop gestures with his palms and fingers. "Yoyoyoyoyo-_YO_!"

**"For once we agree on something; you fail **_**tremendously**_** at life."**

Mikey's hands dropped to his sides again and he bowed his head in deep shame. _"I know..."_ After a moment of silence, Michael looked back into the mirror and sighed. Then, the strong, young man's attention finally focused on the fact that he hadn't finished styling himself up and he grabbed his black, trip-belted fedora. Mike's right hand brushed across the top of the headpiece and his left hand held on to the front end as he turned the hat clockwise in his fingers and quickly rested the hair-destroyer on top of his head.

Mikey's eyes shifted back at the mirror in front of him and he examined himself. _"Hmm...lookin' sharp. I don't think John will have any reason to complain about how tacky I look. Of course, he'd complain even if I wore the exact same thing he wore. *sigh*...like he'd even take the time to actually focus on me and how I look. Last time I checked, I don't have breasts." _Michael looked down at his chest at this thought and placed his palms against his chest, each hand over his clothed nipples. _"Okay fine, I'll rephrase that; I don't have _boobs_." _Michael removed his hands from his chest and his face resurfaced in the mirror on his wall, followed by yet another lingering thought from 'The Miz' that, surprisingly, made Michael wonder curiously for once.

**"And you care...**_**why**_**?"**

_"What, about me not having boobs?"_

**"No, you idiot; I meant about John checking you out. Why the hell would you care whether or not he looks at you?"**

Michael frowned into the bathroom mirror and placed his palms back onto his breasts as his sky blue eyes stared blankly at his reflection. It was a matter of time until those very eyes slowly revealed the emotion of despair; great despair, actually. Really, it was almost a miserable looking feeling. To be honest, Michael couldn't properly answer Miz's question; he didn't quite know the answer, himself. All he knew was that he had a huge feeling that it would lead to nothing but trouble in the future.

However, this moment of questionable grieving quickly ended whenever the sound of a car horn blasting two or three times in Michael's front yard. Mikey's hands dropped to his sides, he turned around, and rushed himself to his front door. He nearly ripped the door knob from it's socket in the anxious blaze his conscious had seemingly created. Once the young man was out the door and directly in front of John's cherry red Corvette, he smiled as the older man motioned for Mikey to enter through the passenger side of the vehicle. The Chick Magnet opened the door and entered the gorgeous transportation system while giving John a proper enough greeting to The Shaman of Sexy's standards.

"Word up, chico! Taking little ol' me on a date tonight?" John chuckled for about one whole second and rolled his eyes behind his designer shades. "_Please_, I wouldn't ever take somebody as ugly as _you_ on a date." As Michael fastened his seat belt, he curled his bottom lip into a puppy lip and whimpered playfully. "Why? I thought we had something special, Johnny-Bunny!"

John turned the ignition key and waited for the sound of the engine starting until he replied to his friend. "Chyeah, those times we tackled each other in ring were _totally_ special." Michael laughed at his friend's comment and responded to him. "But you have to admit; those matches more than likely made women want us more than they already do." John pulled the lever into reverse, placed his arm behind Michael's seat, and turned to see where he was going.

"Very true; that's _one_ good thing you've done for me. And that means it also probably helped you too, so you should thank me." Mikey rolled his eyes. "Well, I do _love_ me some of the loving the ladies give me." Once John had backed up far enough for him to be able to leave Michael's house, he removed his arm from Mike's seat and pulled the lever into drive. "You can thank me later." John stepped on the gas and headed out into neighborhood's lane.

**"You're a **_**fantastic**_** liar, Michael."**

_"Thanks, I learned it all from you."_

As the two men drove through the extravagant neighborhood of fellow celebrities, Michael and John both couldn't help but feel high and mighty. After so much hard work and determination to get what they wanted to achieve in life, the two professional wrestlers were living life at its finest as the world awaited for their next move, paparazzi and all. John smiled every time he drove through this part of Los Angeles and Mikey just reminded himself over and over again that used to be a child who worshiped about half of the people who were now considered his neighbors. Even though the two men had lived in this area for some time now, it still affected them like they were movie stars. Which they technically were, but you get the point.

Once John had reached the turn point at the end of the road, he turned off and soon found Michael and himself cruising along the strip. The sun may have nearly blinded John as he tried to concentrate on the road, but that didn't mean that it wasn't beautiful for such an occasion. The glamorous lifestyle of a celebrity combined with the rich flare of the fiery planet warming the already boiling beach babes of L.A. As great of an idea as it was for the two men to spend a day at the beach in hopes of getting a well needed tan (well, for Michael; John was already tan enough as it was), John didn't exactly like the idea of being found in an area where thousands of hott broads would be present...and have his male best friend tagging along with him. Not exactly the greatest idea in John's opinion.

As for Mikey, well, you should probably have already guessed that he saw no problem in going to the beach with his friend. Of course, Michael didn't exactly have the same intentions as John did when it came to going to such an exotic area like the beach; Michael wanted to have fun with his friend whereas John wanted to have fun with multiple women in bikinis. So, to avoid having a rather complicated conflict with his close friend, Mikey decided that it would be best to just go somewhere extremely boring to start the two men's day off. What this place would be, Mike didn't know where it would be. All that he knew at the moment was that the silence within the cherry red Corvette was killing him.

"Is it alright if I turn the radio on or something, John? The silence is irritating me _terribly_." John tilted his head a bit as he kept his eyes on the road. "We've been talking and you're annoyed with the silence?" Mike rolled his eyes and smirked at the older man. "No, _I've_ been talking; _you've_ been giving me smart-ass responses to everything."

John flashed a small grin and he responded with, "Why not? It's usually always on, anyway. The only reason I even had it off in the first place was because I thought I heard some kind of rattling noise in the engine whenever I was on my way to your place." Michael's fingers reached for the 'F.M' buttons as he replied with, "A rattling noise? Nothing's wrong with your motor or anything, right?" John gave the younger man a half hearted shrug. "I guess not. I listened for a little while longer and it stopped. So if anything is wrong, it must not be much of a big deal." Mikey pressed the button down, only to be met with the unbearable surprise of static that scared John enough to yank the wheel a little bit to his left, forcing him to swerve back into the right lane.

"John, _turn the wheel_!" Luckily, John had done just that before Michael could even finish his sentence and the two men were once again on the safe portion of the road. "_Shit!_ Jesus Christ, Mike! Are you trying to get us killed or something?" Michael's mouth dropped open and he held arms up a bit as to signify his confusion to the situation. "I-I didn't mean to! I just turned the radio on and it screeched in my face! How loud do you have this thing, anyway?"

John took a deep breath and reached his fingers out to turn the volume back up on his sound system, but only by a little bit more. "There, that should be good enough. Happy now?" Michael put his hands down back in his lap and sighed. "Much, _much_ better. Thank you, John." John groaned under his breath while his tag team partner continued to surf through channels.

_"Down on dat hoe, down on dat hoe..."_

"No." Mikey pressed the button down and reached the next channel.

_"IIIII'mma cowboooooy..."_

"Hell no." He pressed the button down again.

_"YAAAAAAA..."_

"Hmm...does this get any better?"

_"*incoherent growling*"_

"Ugh...another stereotypically bad death metal group. They have great instruments; now if only they actually had lyrics...why don't they ever play Bullet anymore?" Mike pressed the button down one more time.

_"This speech is my recital. I think it is very vital..."_ Michael looked over at John with a rather goofy grin present on his lips. _"To rock-a rhyme, that's right-on time, it's tricky, it's uptight-here we go..." _This moment then filled itself with only the goofy demeanor of Michael Mizanin and the snooty buzzkilling of John Hennigan as Mikey broke into a loud singalong with the radio as the corner of John's eye locked hard on his younger friend. Oh, the fun Michael had trolling his best friend.

"It's tricky to rock a rhyme-to rock a rhyme that's right on time-it's tricky. It's tricky-tricky-tricky-tricky! It's tricky to rock a rhyme-to rock a rhyme that's right on time-it's tricky!"

"Wow, you honestly have no dignity left in you, do you?"

"Aw c'mon, John! _You know_ that you know the lyrics to this song!"

"Well of course I do; I just have enough dignity not to burst out into song over it."

"C'mon, don't be such a party pooper, man! It's tricky to rock a rhyme-to rock a rhyme that's right on time-it's tricky. It's tricky-tricky-tricky..."

Finally, John rolled his eyes and decided to join in with his best friend.

"It's tricky to rock-"

"A rhyme-"

"To rock-"

"A rhyme-"

"That's right on time-it's _trickkky_!"

Mikey's goofy smile returned to his face and he nudged John in the shoulder. "_Heeey...somebody's_ having fun for a change!" The Shaman of Sexy chuckled for a second and glanced over at Mikey for a brief moment. "I'm not as stiff as you may think." Mike smiled at the older man and responded with, "I'm glad of that. Really, I am."

"Too bad you're a crazy bastard, though."

Mikey arched one of his eyebrows and scooted closer to the long haired driver.

"Huh? _Crazy_?" _"If you _only_ knew..."_

"Well yeah; you're the first guy I've ever actually met that would just randomly do and say things out of fucking nowhere just to annoy me. You, my friend, are genuinely _crazy_."

Michael shrugged.

"You must have met some really boring people in your life, then."

John made some quiet noise with his throat before turned back to see the road. Michael wrapped his left arm around his seat and joined his right hand with the left. "So, I've been meaning to ask; where _are_ we going, exactly?" John finally smiled again and looked up at his rear view mirror. "We're meeting somebody really special to me..somebody that's stood by my side through thick and thin." Mikey's eyebrows rose for a second. "Oh? Well..who, may I ask, is this certain someone that you speak of?"

You know how curiosity can sometimes get the better of you and you end up finding out about things you wish you never knew? Well, Michael was just like any regular human being in this situation and ended up getting his foot stuck in his mouth by asking his friend something as personal as this. Yes, the answer Michael received shouldn't have affected him in any way, but it most certainly did. In fact, it was one of those moments that Mikey wished he could take back...but like that would've helped him any. After all, he could've seen it coming from a mile off.

"She's my girlfriend."

-  
I knew it, I made it to the second paragraph before giving up and going to bed. XD We're about to be introduced to another character...an _actual_ character; not an OC. :D I would love to get up from this chair now, but my cat keeps randomly pressing keys on the keyboard while sitting in my lap. D: Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and I give a special thanks to **Salem Dae**, **Bourtonfreak13**, and **booxradley** for reviewing! :)


	16. Chapter 15: Me, The Third Wheel

Pairings thus far: _**Minor mentionings of reluctant (ended) Miz/OCs(f), a one-time consensual (ended) Miz/OC(m), hints of Miz**__** crushing on Morrison, Shannon Moore has a girlfriend, one really small mention of (ended) Matt/Lita, and Morrison/?**_

**I slept for like...an hour. xD Don't you just hate it when you want to sleep, but you can't? Oh well, I'm sure whenever I start seeing random colors floating around, that'll be a good indication that I should probably go take a nap or something. :) And once again, for some odd reason, I'm having an inspiration for future chapters. Oh well, that just means more motivation for me to keep this going! :D Anyway, onward!  
-**

**"...**_**WHAT**_**?"**

Michael sat in his best friend's passenger seat, mouth dropped open in shock at his friend's news. _"He has a _girlfriend_? Since when? Oh man...should've saw _this _one coming..."_ The Corvette remained dead silent for a for minutes before Michael could finally muster up the might to speak again. "...you have a girlfriend, John? Wow...h-how come you never told me before?" John flashed his reflection through the rear view mirror a toothy grin and shrugged. "You never asked."

Once again, Michael's arms came up slowly to signify his confusion to the situation. "W-Well, how am I supposed to know enough to ask you in the first place?" John laughed at his friend's sudden disbelief. "What's the matter, Mikey? Shy around women or something?"

"No, that's not it; I'm just..._shocked_ is all..." John chuckled once more and let the corner of his eye catch Mikey's gaze. "Don't worry; she's a good girl. She won't bite..._hard_." Michael rolled his eyes. _"Great...just what I needed..."_

"So...where are we meeting this mystery woman of yours?"

"Over at the local diner, I suppose. She texted me earlier and said that it was a place me and her had been to enough times...so I quickly assumed that that's what she was talking about."

"Are you sure that she was talking the _diner_, John? What if she meant somewhere else? Or are you terrible at picking dates and the diner's the only place you and her have ever gone to?"

John's mouth dropped open a bit and bit back with, "_Excuse me?_ I'm a master at the art of pleasing a woman in a lovely night out!" Michael crossed his arms and gave an elfish smirk at The Shaman of Sexy. "So is that why you take her to a _diner_ of all places?" John eyeballed the rear view again. "I'd love to see you do any better, _Chick Magnet_."

Mike gave the older man a toothy grin and laughed. "I _know_ I'd do a better job at date picking than you, buddy boy. Geez, you're pretty much just taking her to a second rate crapfest just so you can take her home and fill her with even more!" John ignored his friend's comment and focused more on the road instead of the critique given to him. Whenever words from Michael had resurfaced once again ignored, John flipped the turn signal. "_This_ is the place."

**"Well...time to smack a bitch."**

_"_What? No! _Dude, we need to at least _try _getting along with this chick!"_

**"You have fun doing that; my pimp hand is aching for a beatdown."**

_"What pimp hand? You get as much ass as _I_ do; none."_

**"Oh **_**fuck off**_**, Mike Mizanin."**

Once Mike had finally seen the building of the place in question, his first thought was that it looked like a combination of a generic gas station mixed in with a drug store. He had seen too many places like this in his years of living in Ohio and he could already tell that somebody from any angle of viewing the two men was going to try ripping them off. "John, are you sure that this is a good place to hang out? It looks kind of..._suspicious_." John turned into the parking lot of the homely eating facility and briefly searched for a good parking spot. Not to long after, he found one spot near the entrance of the building and he pulled into the empty spot.

John pushed the gear back into park and he turned the key back to cancel the motor. The attractive superstar looked over at his younger friend with a rather stern complexion present on his mug. "_Suspicious?_ What, just because this isn't some fancy restaurant, you're going to go off the deep end and say that this is a bad place?" Michael shook his head in disagreement.

"No, I'm just saying that I've seen quite a few places like this back in Parma and...well, don't be too mad if we get mugged or something." John pulled the key from ignition and clipped it back onto the loop on the right side of his jeans. "Mike, Ohio is like the home of every single condescending prick in the United States; of course you're going to get mugged." Before Michael could argue with The Shaman of Sexy's logic, John continued. "Besides, we're professional wrestlers; I don't think anybody is going to be stupid enough to pick on guys like us. You know, people that could rip them to shreds with no trouble at all?"

Mike half-shrugged, still smarting from John's 'Ohio' comment. "That's true, I suppose...but now back onto home states, I-" John held his left index up to Mikey as he pulled his cell phone out from his pocket and flipped it open. "It's Mel; _shh_." John pressed the open phone against his left ear. _"Mel? He can't mean...they're _still _dating?"_

**"I thought that skank left him for Dave Bautista!"**

"Hey babe; we're at the usual spot."

A quiet, muffled voice chattered for a moment before John continued.

"So I'm at the right place?"

Another moment of uncomfortable silence.

"Heheheh-well..."

All Michael could hear this time was nearly silent, feminine laughter on the other end of the line.

"Alright well, we'll see you in a few minutes then."

A second of silence passed.

"Okay, love you too babe. See ya." John closed the phone back up and stuffed it back into his pants pocket. Mike just stared blankly at his friend, desperately trying to ignore not only Miz's hateful comments, but his own negative thoughts. Unfortunately, this just lead to an awkward silence between the two tag team partners and Michael refused to let this lead to horrible things. "So...what car is Melina expecting to be arriving in?"

John turned to his right to look at his co-worker. Once he realized that he had asked an odd question, Mikey continued his statement. "W-Well, you know-for like whenever she drives up and all...to see who it is." John unbuckled his seatbelt, casually answering his friend's question. "Her driver is taking her in her new Mustang. '07 model-god. She _loves_ Mustangs...but I suppose that _all_ women do. Maybe that can teach you a few lessons, Mikey."

"Uh-_huh_..." Michael looked down at his lap and patted his fingers together for a short moment before John budded his elbow with his wrist. "There she is." Michael looked up from behind the windshield of John's fancy Corvette to see an even fancier, freshly cleaned, midnight blue Mustang pulling up into the lot. The two men watched the car as it circled the area for a minute or so before ultimately choosing an empty space two rows from John and Mike.

"C'mon, let's get out and greet her." Michael turned his head to look at John, giving him a look that hinted slight concern. John calmly placed his hand upon Mike's right shoulder and smiled. "Don't worry, she's honestly a great girl. Sure, we've had some troubles in our relationship. She's cheated on me a couple of times before, but-" Michael's eyes widened greatly at this news and he removed John's hand from his shoulder.

"She's done _what_ a couple of times?" John sighed and placed his left fingers under the door knob on his side of the vehicle. "Look, I deserved it each and every time she did. I'm not exactly the greatest guy in the world and-well, I've had it coming." Mike's eyes stayed wide open as he slowly raised his eyebrows in his clouded haze of confusion. "What exactly have you done to deserve something that terrible, John?"

Hennigan never answered Mizanin's question as he casually opened his door and stepped out of the expensive car. "Just be nice to her, man. You'll _love_ her when you take the time to actually talk to her." _"I honestly doubt that..."_ Michael unbuckled himself from his seat and repeated John's actions of exiting the vehicle. The two professional wrestlers stood by their original sides of the Corvette and watched as the lady's chauffeur calmly opened the passenger side of the blue Mustang.

**"What, too lazy to open the door herself?"**

A pair of smooth, slender legs with high heeled shoes appeared from the vehicle slowly while the male chauffeur stood sluggishly over the celebrity. Finally, a tan woman exited from the car and smiled at the man beside her. "Thank you, Donald." The man bowed for her and walked over to the driver's side of the car and entered once again as she slowly turned to face the two men watching from a distance. She wore a plain white T-shirt with a leopard print mini skirt that moved perfectly with her hips as she sauntered over to the two men with an alluring smile that always John's heart fall to its knees whenever he'd see the beautiful brunette walk over his way with her the shimmer of her lavender colored lip gloss shining in the light.

_"I suppose she's not the _worst_ looking woman alive..."_

**"SLUT. Huge, FUCKING**_** slut**_**! Look at that cheap weave she has going on!_ Daaah_..talk about _no_ class whatsoever."**

John gave the woman a loving smile as he walked over towards her and stopped in front of her. He didn't know what it was about the woman, but something about Melina Perez yanked the lion out of the heart of John Hennigan and made him into an honest, caring man. He could be in a room with millions of super models that would put out for him with the drop of a hat and he'd still turn around and enter the room where only his beloved Melina was there waiting for him. She may have only just been a mere human being to others, but, to John, Mel was a goddess sent from the most fragrant, astonishing parts of Heaven to bring the true light into the life John had deemed so glamorous and perfect. It didn't matter to John that this same woman, who had given him so much joy and pleasure, had also ripped his soul apart into hundreds of bloody, empty threads and left it to rot and lurch into the domains of families upon families of maggots to feast upon.

But it mattered everything to Mike Mizanin and The Miz.

**"Hey, what's that smell? *sniff* **_**Oooh**_**...that's Melina's discharge. Looks like she didn't clean up very well after her chauffeur was finished with his 'services'."**

_"...okay first off-_EW_. Two, we can't judge her _entirely_ yet. Remember? John never actually said why he thought that he deserved to be cheated on. It's possible that he cheated on her first...but I'm not holding that as the answer until I know for sure."_

The only sight that Mike could see was that John's lips had met with Mel's and the two lovebirds' hands were beautifully intertwined together. For his sake, he jammed his hands in his pockets, bent his head down and started to meekly stare at the ground as he waited for his name to be called. While this plan took place, the only noises that entered through the 27 year old's ears was the silent, yet sweet whisperings between his best friend and his sweetheart joined in with the distant sound of traveling vehicles on the strip. Also, not to mention the nonstop babbling of both of his mindsets. Oh, how he'd love for them shut up for once...the feeling of a clear mind was one of the only things Michael had ever really wished for...and with an active life like he had, that was one dream that would never come true.

After the two California natives were finally finished giving each other their romantic, lovey-dovey tidings, John held Mel's hand firmly in his own as the couple stepped over to the man that had originally been the only company that had accompanied The Guro of Greatness. John gently wrapped his palm around Mikey's shoulder and shook him to reality. "Hey, hey _day dreamer_! Wake up and welcome to the world non-fiction!" Mike's head popped up suddenly as he finally realized that the three of them were finally involved in the same picture. "Heh? Oh sorry...didn't get a lot of sleep last night or something."

Mel giggled as John arched an eyebrow. "Oh _really_ now? Wasn't it _you_ that wouldn't shut the hell up whenever we were on our way here?" Mike gave a shy shrug and looked back down at the ground, speaking in a quiet voice. "Talking makes me tired, sometimes." Melina made a face at the fedora wearing man and brushed her palm against his cheek gently.

"Aww...John; he's _adorable_. He acts _nothing_ like he does on TV!" Mikey's entire body stiffened in slight fear and his eyes widened a bit at the woman's touch. The tan skinned woman giggled at the man's awkwardness and removed her hand from his cheek. "It's okay, sweetie; I'm not a hater." Michael took a quick breath and cleared his throat.

"Umm...well, uh-it's nice to meet you, Mel. John's told me so much about you and I believe we've probably seen each other backstage once or twice in the past." Mel held out her hand and smiled. "We probably have before and it's very nice to meet you...Mike? Is that right?" Mikey chuckled, grabbed her hand and shook it as he answered with, "Yes, ma'am. You have it right." The two let go and John wrapped his arm around the young woman.

"See, Mikey? Didn't I tell you she was a great catch?" All the blue-eyed man could do was throw in a friendly smile for the pair, maybe show a few teeth just so they didn't think anything was faulting him whatsoever. Mel turned to face her lover and moved his right index finger down his chest. "_I'm_ the good catch, huh? Well, how many women out in the world are lucky enough to have a sexy, athletic man with the world's juiciest abs ever spotted?" John growled like a horny tiger during mating season in the African plains.

"How about a fine lady with legs like _these_?" John gently brushed Melina's right leg with his hand. The tan woman let out a disturbing chuckle that made Michael want to crawl in a hole and stay dormant for the rest of his life. "Uhh..._so_, are we going to get some lunch or are you two going to bump uglies in John's car? Because if you are, remember two things; one, make sure there are no cops around to bust you and two, use a condom for your careers' sakes." John looked down at his girlfriend and smirked.

She stuck her left index finger up at his face and wiggled it side to side. "Uh-Uh-Uh, no nookie for you right now." John groaned and bowed his head in shame as his lover continued on with, "Remember John, we came here to celebrate your web show's quick success." John raised his head and sighed. "I suppose so."

Mel stepped away from John for a second and pointed her finger up at the man. "Besides, you're still in deep shit for being two minutes late for our last date." John rolled his eyes and held his arms out. "C'mon, it was _just_ two minutes, Mel!" She dropped her hand to her side and looked back at Michael.

"But I agree with the cutie right here; we should go in for some feasting. I'll see you two boys inside." She winked at Mikey and began strutting slowly onward inside the diner. The former Reality TV star turned back to face John, who was being the lovesick dumbass that he was. "Ahh...I hate seeing her leave, but I _love_ watching her go..." Michael rolled his eyes and waved his hand in front of John's eyes.

"Earth to John, we're supposed to follow her." The Guro of Greatness ignored his tag team partner and just continued seeing past his friend's arm and watched his girlfriend's legs move perfectly with the motion of her thighs. Mike groaned and began snapping his fingers loudly in John's sight. "_John. Hennigan_! Do I have to castrate you to bring you back to the planet?" John shook his head at the word 'castrate' and pushed Mikey's arm out of the way.

"Urgh..._fine_. Let's go in, _honey_." The two men headed after the sultry woman and the rest of the night just seemed to fly by. Well, at least for John and Mel. For Mikey, it couldn't of possibly gone any more slowly. Luckily for the 27 year old, the night ended much faster for him than it did the _lovely_ couple.

After the three had entered into the diner together, the group ordered their food and chowed away while John and Melina constantly had to remind each other about how attractive one another was and such. Michael had to force himself to compliment the woman every time she'd start talking to him and John just happened to be right beside the two, listening. He'd tell her that her shoes were pretty, that her car was gorgeous, he reminded her of how white her teeth were...anything to give Mikey a quick save from this situation. Not only that, but there was even a point whenever Mel had left to use the restroom and Mike was forced to tell John just how nice and respectable woman she was! It was, needless to say, a total waste of time that Michael had gone through and his inner thoughts didn't make matters any better.

_"She seems nice, but there's just something about her that...well...I-I just don't trust that woman at all."_

**"Hmmph, so **_**now**_** you agree?"**

_"As much as I hate to say it...yeah, I agree with you."_

**"Ahhh, so glad to hear that you're **_**finally**_** seeing things my way!"**

_"But Miz, you have to remember something...we can't help who John loves or whatever. He's happy with her...there's nothing we can do."_

**"I know that already...but do **_**you**_** honestly know that?"**

This very question pondered inside of Michael's brain the rest of the night. It pondered as he hung out with two lovebirds, it pondered in his head whenever John had told him that him and Melina were going to continue the night by themselves (Michael had used the excuse that his stomach has killing him and that he needed rest), and it pondered in his head whenever John had driven him home. Perhaps it was just something that had been embedded into his head by his mother growing up, but the thought of a close friend of his being hurt by somebody who should care about him just simply tore Michael's heart apart. As the young clearly remembered, he always stood up for his pals who had been wronged by their loved ones; even if did lead him to some really embarrassing, shocking memories.

During high school, college, The Real World...pretty much everywhere at any time it was needed, there couldn't of been a better friend than Michael Mizanin to run to with your problems. But that was just the point this time...every other time he had wanted to stick up for somebody, he only felt a friendly connection with them. The only exception was whenever he consoled his college roommate/childhood pal Mitchell and, even then, the only reason something even happened was because Mitch had lead Mike into an awkward, yet enlightening experience that cursed the poor guy for the rest of his life. Yes, something had happened...but Michael didn't feel any kind of lasting romantic feeling for the boy. That was years ago and now that Michael was dealing with yet another friend in need...he could honestly say that this time was much, _much_ different from every other time.

As stated earlier, Michael felt a strong, unexplainable admiration for The Shaman of Sexy and he couldn't stand knowing that he was being blindly lead on by a woman who probably didn't have a shred of remorse for any of the bad things she had ever done to him. Why would John waste his time with a person who did things like that to him...whenever there was somebody better than her? As much as Michael may have not wanted to admit it...he was a little bit of a romantic at heart whenever it came to this sort of thing (of course, these things didn't exactly happen often for the 27 year-old). But why..._why_ were these thoughts springing into Michael's head all of a sudden? Why now...why in this day and age...and why with _John_?

Was there any particular way that Michael could look at this situation in the safest terms possible? A thing that the man had so bluntly promised himself in his college years was that he wouldn't ever do anything like he had done before ever again, but why did fate tempt him so with the presence of a handsome, funny, and sweet (on the inside, of course) man who seemed to have caught Michael's attention faster than any other guy ever had? He shouldn't even like men in the first place; he should have a girlfriend waiting for him at home like everybody else, but Michael had no desire to _ever_ have a woman by his side. It was such a horribly confusing situation that Michael had really no choice but to turn to the one person that could give him the best advice about such an awkward turn of events; The Miz. And, as always, Miz's advice was something that Michael eventually figured out would be much, _much_ harder to do than how his alter ego would make it out to be.

**"Look, I'm going to say this as delicately as I can...ignore everything your hormones and emotions tell you. It's obvious you're starting to have a slight thing for this guy; don't let that form into anything else. As in nothing anymore emotional than just a simple schoolgirl crush nor anymore physical than something that your hand could just simply take care of. You hear me? If you let this form into anything more, you AND me will be fucked for life. So, again, DON'T FUCKING DO IT!"**

-  
I has a new laptop! :D So far, I'm still trying to get used to the finger-mouse-pad-thing that always taunts me whenever I try to use a portable computer. *struggles with ultra sensitive pad* Damn you, small Compaq computer; damn YOOOOOOOOOOUUUuuuuu...*melodramatic outburst ends* Ahem-my apologies for that, ladies and germs. I hope you all enjoyed this latest installment of my incrediably homosexual story I have presented for you. :D And, as always, I want to give out special thanks to Anon, Adamantyne, Bourtonfreak13, booxradley, and Salem Dae for their reviews. Thank you, lovelies! :3


	17. Chapter 16: The Perfect Save

Pairings thus far: _**Minor mentionings of reluctant (ended) Miz/OCs(f), a one-time consensual (ended) Miz/OC(m), Miz is **__**crushing on Morrison, Shannon Moore has a girlfriend, one really small mention of (ended) Matt/Lita, and Morrison/Melina**_

**My Senior pictures have been taken now...this can only mean that I have to return to school soon. Where the hell did the summer go? DX *wishes that the good old days of being off for **_**three**_** months was back* Urgh...oh well, at least there's still a few weeks left of freedom before I have to fret about earning scholarships. :) Also, a little more on topic with the fandom...it looks like this story just might go on a little longer than I had originally planned; the fact that the main character of this story just won Money in the Bank is a define means for some extra chapters. That is, if you guys don't mind a longer story. ;) Anyway, enjoy the chapter!  
-**

**Backstage at an ECW event a couple of days later...**

Ahh...a glorious ritual was now taking place within the WWE this very day. Okay fine, it might've not been that special, but it was most certainly important for every one of the professional wrestlers. This was something that was always scheduled at the most random and unannounced times so that the superstars would be caught off balance and possibly be exposed for any bad things they might've done at the time. It's a mandatory event that if any superstar were to refuse taking part in, they'd be fired right off the spot. If you've guessed that this description belongs none other than to the infamous drug test that so many superstars have lost their careers to by failing, then you are absolutely right.

The RAW superstars had already performed this ritual backstage the previous night, so now the ECW and Smackdown rosters were entitled to follow their lead. Once Dreamer had informed the men and women of the underrated brand of the world-renowned wrestling corporation of this somewhat unexpected happening, the roster had all done what their instincts had fed to their brains and bought themselves bottles of water to chug on until their names were called for their incredibly degrading urine tests. This went also for Shannon Moore and Michael Mizanin as the two men walked side-by-side one another in the surprisingly clean and empty hallway. "_Man_, how _fun_ is it going to be to have doctors monitor what's inside our piss?" Mikey removed the bottle from his mouth and swallowed the liquid behind his teeth.

"Ah man, it's the greatest thing to ever happen in my career. I'm just _shaking_ with anticipation to run around here with a plastic cup with my bodily fluids out in the open for all to see!" Shannon let some loud growling noise and smacked the younger man's palm. "Yeeeeah, _boooi_! Hooray for pee, dude!" The two men bumped their knuckles together and roared like two drunk frat boys at a wild party. The midcarders then linked their arms together and proceeded in skipping down the hallway, Mikey starting a chant that the two wrestlers switched from line to line at the top of their lungs.

"Anxiety, misery, and humiliation!"

"Boy, you gotta step up to the plate and smell the roses-"

"The fire burns on in the world of-"

"All the half dressed honeys and their shitfaced-"

"Jackass, son of a bitch-"

"Wannabe jerk-off pals! Anxiety-"

"Misery and humiliation!"

The compradres let go of each others' arms and slapped each other's backs. Their laughter was cut a little on the short side whenever the sight of a rather sullen faced John Hennigan making his way towards the men made it to their eyes. The Shaman of Sexy arched his right eyebrow at the fools and chuckled. "And the winners for whose going to tragically fail their drug tests are..." Shannon flashed an open smile at the long-haired man and put his hand on his shoulder.

"Hey there, Morry; ain't nothing wrong with having a personality. You should totally try it sometime!" John smiled at the mohawked man and slapped his back playfully. "Nah..it's called using too much LSD before arriving to work." Mike gave John a cheeky grin and held his hand out, waving it in a slow, circular motion. "You mean like how your _marvelous_ entrance video looks? Why, with all it's _flashy_ colors constantly changing?"

John blinked let his arm go free from Shannon's back. "Says the guy who wears the incredibly sparkly capris week after week." At this point, John held his hands up and waved them slowly in a circular motion like Mike had. "The Miz...fagging up wrestling fans' perspectives of what's macho and what isn't since 2007." Mikey continued to grin at the older man and stepped closer to him. "Oh really? _My_ threads are gay? What about Mr. Tuesday Night Delight and his super tight girl pants?" John raised an eyebrow at the younger man and pointed at him. "Don't hate on the furry pants, bro. Babes love them and you know it."

Mike threw his head back and laughed a hearty laugh. "Hoohahaha-Yeah, _alright_; I'll be sure to _also_ raid through Cruella De Vil's wardrobe whenever I want to get laid!" John scoffed at the less experienced superstar and folded his arms. "And Al Capone's gay, younger brother's wardrobe is any _better_?" Shannon Moore chuckled and stepped in front of the two men.

"Naw, I think you two are truly missing out on who the _true_ babe magnet is here." The wild-haired punk then raised his right arm up and pointed his index finger at himself. "_Moi._ You and I all three know that the ladies _love_ the hair and the _gorgeous_ make-up. Face it, I'm the real chick magnet around here!" Now it was John's turn to throw his head back in heavy laughter while Mike rubbed the side of his head. "Oh Shannon, Shannon, _Shannon_...you're still in denial about your appeal to the millions of lesbians that are convinced that you are a butch woman."

Shannon smiled at The Shaman of Sexy and raised his hand to run his fingers through the beautiful mane that was John's head of hair. John jerked back in total shock and fear as the mohawked misfit giggled himself into a very small frenzy. "Beats having th appeal of millions of seven year olds who found Tarzan to be hott!" John finally managed to get away from Shannon and ended up expressing a petite freak-out over his hair in the middle of the hallway. "My sexy hair! Nononono_no_! Oh man...I need a mirror; who all has a _fucking_ mirror?"

The two similarly haired men stared, smiling at the long-haired man as his short lived tirade went on. Shannon stepped beside Michael and nudged the man's right shoulder with his own shoulder, whispering close to his ear. "Shit, he's worse than _my_ woman." Mikey pressed his lips together closely to hold back his laughter while John frantically rubbed his palms through his hair. "Aw, fuck you Shannon! Ugh God, ugh God, ugh God..."

Mikey continued to hold back his amusement and tried to calm down his desire to burst into loud, obnoxious laughter by taking another swig from his plastic water bottle. Shannon looked back to his side at the younger man and clapped his hands together. "Aw shit, that reminds me; I should probably go over to wherever the hell they're doing these pointless tests and get mine over with." Mike swallowed the contents in his mouth and looked over at his friend. "Think you're gonna pass?"

Shannon shrugged and tilted his head a bit to the left. "Maybe, maybe not. You're talkin' to a guy who is real tight with Jeff Hardy, so who knows?" Micheal curled his lip into a puppy lip and responded with, "But...I don't want my Shannon getting sacked." Shannon straightened his head back and chuckled. "Even if I do get sacked, I'll still be in reach with everyone. I wouldn't worry about it." Mike smiled and held his knuckle out. Shannon bumped the younger man's knuckle and started walking on forward. "See ya, Mikey. And see you, _Teenie Queen_."

Moore winked over at John, who was still running his hands through his hair, and left the two tag team champions alone. Mike looked over at his best friend and giggled quietly as he rubbed the back of his neck. "John." The Guro of Greatness stopped what he was doing and glared Mizanin. "_What?_ Shannon fucked with my hair; I _have_ to fix it!"

Michael dropped his hand to his side, opposite hand still grasping on to his plastic bottle, and smiled. "Your hair looks great; I don't think you have to worry about looking unattractive for anybody." John dropped his hands to his sides and groaned. "Maybe I'd rather worry about my hair than worry about me losing my job." Mike shrugged and stepped closer to the older man. "I don't see any reason why you'd have to worry about losing your job, John."

**"Yeah, the fans fucking love him in comparison to **_**you**_**."**

_'Ummm...excuse me? Who's the one in the ring every week, Miz? _You_, that's who!"_

John frowned and heaved a painfully heavy sigh. The man spoke in a quiet voice as his head slowly bowed in shame. "I have every reason in the world to lose my job..." Mike's eyes widened, his eyebrows lowered, and his mouth opened itself a bit as his next words just seemed to have sputtered out. "W-_What_? _Why?_ What the hell did you do to deserve that?"

**"What fuck did the son of a bitch do?"**

_"No...John...please..._why_?"_

John's head rose back up, but continued to speak in a very meek voice. "Things got very..._crazy_ with me and Mel last week-I can't even remember half of what happened and...I don't think I'm going to pass this test...I've already been in trouble once in my career for steroid use; I can't take another suspension. I'm sorry, man...I failed you as a partner." After these words were spoken, Michael didn't know whether to express Miz's radically hateful and harsh emotions or Mikey's overwhelmingly heartbroken misery towards the situation. How could he possibly react to John's actions now that his career was in serious jeopardy? The only way Mike could think of doing was expressing the emotions of both of his mindsets...but only to a certain extent.

Mikey placed his hand on the older man's shoulder and gently rubbed the strong muscle with his fingertips, speaking in a soft voice. "John...you never failed me as a partner...you're hell of a better competitor than I am." John let out a pathetic sigh, closing his eyes briefly. Michael was about three seconds away from just saying 'fuck it' to anybody possibly watching and wrapping his arms tightly around the older man. That is, of course, until The Miz took over in hopes of stopping the other persona.

Miz shoved his tag team partner and crossed his arms. "How the fuck could you be so _stupid_, John? You know better than to go off and get yourself high or whatever just to get yourself some tail!" John's mouth gaped open in shook. "Well Mike, I didn't know what would-" "Shut the hell up, John. You're full of shit and you know it! You knew _exactly_ what you were doing; you just wanted to get inside Melina's pants! Did you _ever_, for one second, think-"

"Who the hell do you think you are talking to me like this?"

"Who the hell am I? I'm your best friend, _dammit_!"

"Huh-some friend _you_ are!"

"Some friend _I_ am? What about _you_, getting high for your girlfriend?"

"Oh _you're_ one to talk! _You_ were all up for partying, too!"

"Yeah, but did I? No, no I didn't!"

_"Hey...wait a second..."_ "Mike, you can't fault me for doing what I did; you'd do the same thing if you were the one you love! It was for _love_, dammit!" _"I have a crazy idea, Miz...let me talk to him again."_ **"Fuck that!" **The faux-hawked man stood still, mind wondering aimlessly through an argument between two forces, no longer hearing anything coming from John's mouth.

"I _love_ her, dude! I'm gonna do things like I did for her!"

_"Please, Miz...let me talk to him!"_

"Mike, I'm talking to you!"

**"Fuck you and your ideas, Michael. You hear me? **_**I'm**_** the man around here; not you!"**

"_MIKE!_ Talk back at me!"

_"Miz...please just trust me this one time...please..."_

**"Why the hell should I do that?"**

_"Because, you feel the same way for him...I _know _you do. You can't deny that."_

The empty shell of a human being that was Michael Mizanin stood perfectly still as his older best friend shook him and shook him, desperately trying to get his attention. "Son of a mother fucking bitch, Michael. _Answer me_!" At what seemed to be hours, the younger man finally showed some form of movement as he blinked a couple of times. The man placed his hand against the top of his head and gently rubbed. "My head hurts..."

John, rather annoyed with his partner, crossed his arms and glared at the younger man. Mikey looked up at the long-haired man and spoke quietly. "John, I have an idea...a _brilliant_ idea." Before John could speak, The Chick Magnet shoved the opening of his plastic water bottle into his mouth, downing the rest of the fluids into his throat. After the bottle was empty, Mike removed it from his mouth, screwed the lid back on, and searched the hallway for a water fountain.

"Well? What's your idea since you're _so_ much smarter than me?" After searching, Michael finally found a fountain down the hall and rushed over towards it. "_Hey!_ Get back here, asshole!" John went after the faux-hawked wrestler as he ran over to the gray water fountain and pressed the button, lowering his head and taking in all the fluids into his mouth. Michael stayed like this for about a minute until John pulled him away from the water giving device.

"Hey dude, chill on the liquids. Too much water can give you poisoning, you know." Once Mike was away from the fountain, he wiped his mouth dry with the back of his right hand. He stood up straight and looked over at his friend. "Wait right here, okay? I'll be right back in just a couple of minutes." Michael turned around and started rushing down the hall.

"Dude! What about your _'brilliant'_ plan that you were going to tell me?" Mike stopped for a second and turned back to view his older friend. "Just trust me on this, John. I'm going to help you keep your job. Just stay right there until I get back." Michael turned back and continued, stuffing his empty bottle inside his inner jacket pocket and practically sprinting down the hall. "How are you going to do that, exactly? Hey, Mike!"

Once Mikey finally made it to the infirmary room, his full proof plan began to take affect. He was told by the doctors in the back that he could get his drug test over with and they handed him his cup. To avoid being harassed by the boys in the back, Michael decided to just find a small area that he could use for a few minutes to complete his master plan. Whenever he came to the realization that the only truly safe place in the entire building was the janitor's closet, he entered the room and closed the door behind him. He leaned up against the door and quickly unzipped himself.

After about five or ten minutes of waiting for his best friend to return from wherever the hell he was headed towards, John finally saw the less experienced superstar walking calmly his way. "Where the _hell_ have you been? Do you realize that we're all expected to be done with our drug tests in an _hour_?" Mike held his hand out, gesturing for his partner to lower his tone a bit. "It's alright, John. I have it sorted out." Once the younger man finally made it to his friend's location, he reached into his jacket pocket.

"Alright, wise guy; what do you possibly have planned that could save me from being fired?" Mike kept his hand inside his jacket pocket and looked at his friend. "Before I tell you the plan, you have to promise to keep this on the down low. Otherwise, you and I both will be in some deep shit." John placed his hands on his hips. "I promise, bro. Now just spit it out already."

_"Man...this is going to be _extremely _awkward..."_ Michael held his breath for moment as he closed his eyes and pulled the object from his jacket pocket. John's eyes lowered and his mouth flopped open for a second. The two men remained silent for a couple of seconds before John could finally find the words to properly use. "That's exactly what I think it is, isn't it?"

Mike nodded as his palm firmly held the formerly empty water bottle that he had possessed, only to see now that it was filled halfway with a goldish fluid. John covered his mouth and looked away. "That's fucking sick, dude. What the-why-what is the meaning of this?" Mike sighed and covered the colored part of the clear bottle with his hand. "_This_ is what's going to save you from getting busted, dude."

John looked back at his friend and rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. "How the hell is your urine going to help me, Mike?" The rather uncomfortable young man took a deep breath and tried to explain the plan as clearly as he possibly could. However easy that would be, that is. "Okay, we all know that people get urine tests mixed up quite often, right? That would obviously mean that urine doesn't exactly distinguish who one is unless the doctors have a label for the sample, correct? Well, with this being said, that must obviously mean that one could get away with using somebody's else's urine for their own test. So-"

"I could get away with using _your_ urine for _my_ test?" Michael smiled shyly and nodded. "You got it down perfectly. All you have to do is keep this bottle with you-hidden, of course and then pour the contents into your cup that the doctors will give you. Once you're done with the test, throw the bottle away somewhere. I've already done my test, so the remaining amount can go to you for your test. I mean, think about it for a second...this is more than likely what Mel did to pass _her_ test." John stayed speechless for a moment as Michael handed him the bottle. The Shaman of Sexy hesitated for a moment, but ultimately decided to accept the bottle and hide it inside his own jacket pocket.

John looked back over at his friend and put his hand on his shoulder. "You...you are truly a life saver, dude. I mean, I know you're more than likely doing this just so you won't lose the tag titles, but you know...this is still pretty amazing for you to do for me. I-I honestly don't know how to ever repay you for this, man." Mike could feel his face warm up a bit and he quickly turned away from his partner. "T-There's really no need to ever repay me, dude. You're my best friend and you can't expect me to just stand here and let you lose everything; I'm going to help fight for you even if you don't." John chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Mike, seriously, there must be something I could do for you. You have absolutely no idea how grateful I am for you doing this. Why, I could _kiss_ you I'm so thankful!" As much as Michael just wanted to bluntly say, "Why don't you, then?", he knew that that would be a horrible mistake on his part and he'd suffer the consequences for it later. So instead, his face turned about fifty shades of red and he completely turned his face away from John's sight. "Ayyee-Honestly man, you don't need to pay me back with anything..." The older man smiled at the man who he hadn't actually seen blushing.

"You're a great friend, Mike. I can never thank you enough for this. But for now, I have to go get this test over with. I'll see you in a few...and thank you so much for everything." And with that, The Guro of Greatness headed on forward towards the infirmary to turn in Mike's sample as his own. The Soldier of Seduction just stayed put in the same spot as he watched his best friend, a man he found himself very fond of, walking away from him to have his career stay on track. It was a feeling that, in all honestly, Michael didn't know how to interpret it. All he knew was that he just risked his own career for his friend's own.

John and Mike had both passed their drug tests that day, doctors even making a comment to the two about how their urine was about as pure as fresh, mountain water. The two men successfully kept their careers and could now celebrate by defending their titles against any tag teams who thought they had what it took to defeat The Greatest Tag Team of the 21st Century. Michael had made a promise to himself that he'd pay John back for sticking up for him against the critics backstage and the fact that he had kept that promise just made his heart pound at the rate of a race horse. John's secret wild week with Mel remained a secret with nobody from the WWE's Wellness Program in on it whatsoever. Michael had done a very good deed that would surely give him good karma in the near future, but that didn't even matter to him; he was just relieved that John was there to stay.

**"Shit, Mikey...you are possibly the saddest human being I've **_**ever**_** encountered."**

_"And why's that? Because I thought of a genius plan that you didn't think of first?"_

**"Hey, I could've **_**easily**_** thought of a plan as simple as that! You just beat me to it was all!"**

_"_Sure_...whatever you say, Miz"_

-  
To clarify, I don't know whether or not Mike's idea would've worked in real life or not, but I have heard stories from people who have used that method for their friends before and they've all said that it works. So...yeah. Just going off a limb on this one. XD Anyway, I want to thank **booxradley** and **Salem Dae** for reviewing! :D


	18. Chapter 17: The Bad Kind of Falling

Pairings thus far: _**Minor mentionings of reluctant (ended) Miz/OCs(f), a one-time consensual (ended) Miz/OC(m), Miz is**__** crushing on Morrison, Shannon Moore has a girlfriend, one really small mention of (ended) Matt/Lita, and Morrison/Melina**_

**I apologize for not updating recently; there's been some problems here and there around my household and it's kind of made me incapable of updating for the past week. :( So, since I'm still not totally recovered from this rather hectic week, I'm going to pretty much write an 'easy' chapter leading up to something better in the next. :) And, regarding my last chapter I wrote, I realize that some errors were made on to there that I didn't get to fix (that's what happens when you rely on Internet Explorer to upload to chapter). XD So, before I post this chapter, I'll make some minor changes to the previous chapter that I forgot to do last time or else it will bother me. D: Anyway, enjoy! :)  
-**

**An unknown area, later in the year**

_A dead, awkward silence filled the air and the faint sound of anxious fans managed to break through the threshold of the cold, brick walls that covered such a dark, sinister room from the outside world. The victim of total neglect, no doubt, was this very room. Forever shunned from the presence of other souls, kept away from the ears of listening patrons, and crammed uncomfortably inside the mind of a troubled young man. True, it wasn't like anybody actually knew such a place even existed; they all assumed that such a place would be called "Hell". But, what those blind termites didn't know was that this place _was_ Hell. It was Hell and Mike Mizanin was being constantly reminded that at the very moment of the sharp leather being sliced into his back, blood dropping to the floor like a crying middle aged woman._

_"Aghh! P-Please-_AGH_!" The whipping sound came again as the gravely misunderstood male tried his hardest to hold back the warm tears desperately trying to fall to the floor. Mike tried to turn his head up and around to see if his abuser was finally finished with his sick and twisted game. The silhouette's arm had risen once more with the leather beating tool, blood texturizing the loose ends. Right as Michael had expected to be hit again, the figure spoke slowly, but viciously._

_**"I'll ask you again...are you...going...to let...me **_**down**_**?" **__Mizanin heaved a couple of breaths and slowly shook his head 'no'. The figure dropped his arm to his side. __**"Hmmph...I find that hard to believe. You wouldn't be lying to me, would you Mikey?" **__Michael choked on his own breath for a second and began to shake his rapidly from each side. "Nononononono-NO! I'm not lying!"_

_**"You sure about that, boy?"**_

_"Yes!"_

_**"Really NOW?"**_

_"_YES_!"_

_Mike's faint moans swelled into the background as the dark figure dropped the leather, blood-soaked whip to the floor and spit on the beaten man's wounds, causing the young man to wince in pain. __**"Get your ass up; I ain't your mommy." **__Mikey closed his eyes and sighed as he slowly rose himself to his hands and knees. The cold breeze enclosed inside the dark room collided against Mike's bare torso as he finally rose to his feet and wrapped his arms around his own chest. The dark man headed over to what looked like a wooden desk about a foot away from Michael and reached his hand onto the desk. It wasn't long after Mike realized that it was a lamp as a light came on and the silhouette's face was revealed to be a face that Michael had seen enough in his last couple years of his life...a face that had fooled so many people in the past._

_The face that met with Michael's was one that, while others saw it as his own, appeared to him as similar...yet different in the fact that this face showed so much more evil and such a lack of compassion that even a serial killer would wince in terror. Especially whenever the smile of the stylish, yet deadly entity met Michael's sky blue eyes. __**"Well now...think you might be forgetting something, Mikey?" **__The meek young man refused to say anything as the man in front of him proceeded in licking his lips. __**"You might wanna put your shirt back on, buddy; I don't think you're **_**quite**_** ready to see me when I'm hot and bothered."**_

_With this being said, Mike looked around him for his gray t-shirt and finally found it laying in the corner on the left hand side of the room. He turned around and walked over to the corner and bent over to pick the shirt up. __**"Yeah..that's what daddy likes to see...the blood staining your blue jeans like that and all...it looks very...**_**erotic**_**. Back that ass up, bitch." **__Michael squirmed in disgust and pain as his fingers latched on to the fabric and he yanked it up while quickly standing back straight. __**"Might wanna hurry, Michael; the man downstairs is getting hungrier and hungrier by the second. He might bite ya if you aren't careful-**_**rawwr**_**."**_

_Michael, feeling as uncomfortable as he possibly could be, stuck his head through the bottom opening of the cloth and stuck his arms through it. When he finally had the shirt on, he could hear a faint hiss from his abuser. __**"What a fucking buzzkill. See, this is why you'll never ever get laid, Michael."**__ Mike crossed his arms and stepped a few steps closer to the man. "No, it's because I'm forced to hide some very horrible facts about myself from the world...you'd remember that if you weren't so busy orgasming over your own reflection, Miz."_

_Miz gave an evil smirk to the young man and placed his elbows on top of the wooden desk in front of him. __**"Can I help it? Just in case you haven't noticed, I'm a fucking sex wish. People all over the world want to fuck me and, as much as I'd love to satisfy their wishes, I can't because I'm forced to hide behind a closeted faggot named Mike Mizanin."**__ Miz removed his elbows from the desk and he stood straight once again. __**"Besides..." **__The alter ego began to slowly walk over to his original persona. __**"Aren't **_**I **_**the one that constantly has to remind you why you won't ever be able to get any ass in your lifetime?"**_

_"Yeah, but even then I don't need to be reminded by you every five seconds."_

_**"Really now? Are you so sure about that, lil' Mikey?"**_

_"How can I not be fucking sure? Do you honestly think I'm that stupid, Miz?"_

_**"As a matter of fact, yes. You are the most fucking stupid man I've ever met in my entire life!"**_

_"How am I so stupid, Miz? Tell me right now, how am I so fricking stupid in your eyes? Is it because I actually have sympathy for others?"_

_The Chick Magnet let out a diabolical chuckle as he finally stood directly in front of the man who looked so much like him, yet acted so differently. __**"Well, for starters, you somehow managed to fuck up as a champion and we ended up losing the tag titles." **__Mike's mouth dropped open and he threw his hands up. "I already told you; it was scripted, Miz! Me and John couldn't hold them forever, you know! Besides, it's not like me or him got pinned; it was Jesse who got pinned. Not me _or_ John." Miz chuckled and bobbed his head to the side for a brief moment._

_**"Even then, obviously the writers hated you enough to demote you from being champion." **__Michael opened his mouth in attempt to speak, but Miz held his hand up, interrupting him. __**"But, I digress. However, on the discussion of **_**John**_**..." **__Michael wrapped his arms around his torso, tugging the shirt a bit, but enough to still feel the blood sticking onto his shirt. "Well, what about John, Miz?"_

_Miz caressed his own cheek with his right fingers and sighed. __**"Let's just say that this is the main reason I made you come today." **__Mike let out a dead chuckle and glared at his alter ego. "_Ha_, so you didn't just call me here to beat me up?" The Soldier of Seduction grinned._

_**"As great of an idea that is, no. I didn't just call you here **_**just**_** to kick your ass." **__Miz rubbed his left hand with his right palm as he spoke. __**"You see, Michael...I observe things **_**very**_** frequently. In fact, I probably observe things more thoroughly than **_**you **_**do. I take notice to things that you think I keep a blind eye to and-"**__ "What does this have to do with John?" Miz held his hand out and lifted his eyebrows._

_"__**That, right there. **_**That**_** is what ties John into this discussion of ours. You see...who have you gone to for advice all these years? You know-when you had nobody else to trust?"**__ Michael arched his eyebrow and shrugged. "Umm..._you_?" Miz nodded and continued. __**"Yes...me. I am the one you've had no choice and nobody better than me to rely all of your deepest, darkest secrets to. And you wanna know know, Mikey? Because you are a total PUSSY. It's far too clear to everyone that I am the testicles of the two of us. That's right; I'm the testicles and you, my friend..you are the vagina. A goddamn pussy if there ever was one! Well, I guess that's alright since you do happen to **_**like**_** testicles, so-"**_

_"Are you going to get down to the point or are you just going to contradict yourself for another hour? Seriously, I was just getting ready for a match later and you had go all psycho bitch on me. So please, for the love of God, just say whatever you have to say so I can leave!" Miz curled his fingers together and chuckled under his breath. __**"Anyway, where I'm trying to get at is that I always give you this advice because you are far too stupid to think on your own...but I figure that you're obviously stupid enough to ignore my advice, as well." **__Growing more and more impatient, Mike rubbed his fingers against his forehead and heaved a deep sigh. "What have I done to piss you off _now_?"_

_Miz bit his lower lip and balled his left hand into a fist.__** "Why Mike...why can't you just fucking listen to me when I say that something will screw us over if you go with it? I've told countless times not to let yourself sink to such a low level and what are you doing; you're sinking to that level more and more everyday!" **__Michael's fists now arrived and stepped closer to his twin. "What the fuck are you talking about, asshole?" __**"John is what I'm talking about, you little prick! That douche who claims to be your friend and snubs you off for his chlamydia induced whore!"**_

_"Is that all you have against John, Miz? Huh? Is it?"_

_**"No, he's also a pompous ass who is completely oblivious to ANYTHING that would actually benefit him in his career and life. I mean, he's risked his career by doing stupid shit **_**how**_** many times now? And you made the mistake by actually helping him through some portion of it! How fucking stupid can you possibly be, Mike?"**_

_"It's called being there for the people you care about, Miz. You should try it, sometime."_

_**"Wrong again; it's called being a little twerp who can't leave people the hell alone and has to go in their business when they screwed things up themselves for being so goddamn pathetic!"**_

_At the word 'pathetic', Mike sprung forward and tackled Miz onto the cold floor of the dark office. "Don't you call him pathetic, you heartless son of a bitch!" After these venomous words were spoken, Mike lifted his head up and quickly slung his forehead back down into Miz's forehead, causing the two skulls to collide roughly against each other in a painful headbutt. Miz squealed in pain, but made the quick rebuttal by grabbing on to Mike's shoulders and rolling him over so that Miz was now on top.__** "Don't you EVER-"**_

_Miz threw a hard punch at Mike's cranium. "Aggh!" __**"FUCKING-" **__Miz struck Mike's groin with his knee. "OOOOooohhh!" __**"ASSAULT ME!"**__ Miz dug his fingernails deep into Mike's face, drawing blood easily and thus causing Michael to desperately try to fight off the urge to scream._

_**"I want you to scream my name, bitch! SCREAM IT!"**_

_Miz wrapped his free hand around Michael's throat and proceeded in choking him._

_**"I can't hear you; scream my name!"**_

_The room began to slowly cloud into a gray, blurry haze for the young professional wrestler._

_**"C'mon bitch, I wanna hear your cries!"**_

_Softening edges to the picture through Michael's eyes, a sweet yet terrifying melody playing in the air..._

_**"I'm **_**waiting**_**..."**_

_They say that you see a bright light whenever your life is coming closer to an end, but Michael could see nothing..._

_**"C'mon!"**_

_Mike's lung capacity was running on it's last couple of seconds before total darkness..._

_**"SCREAM IT!"**_

_**...  
**_

**John and Mike's locker room...**

In a neurotic trance, John could feel his heart stopping at the sight of his non-responsive best friend slash tag team partner lying on the floor, face as pale as a ghost. Whenever John had first come into building, Michael was one hundred percent A-okay...until John left the room and returned to find his best friend jerking around the floor like a maniacal psychopath. Luckily, John had remembered from his Health class back in high school about what to do in the heat of somebody having an epileptic seizure and The Shaman of Sexy managed to get the younger man to stop twitching by turning him over on his side. The only thing was now...when was Michael going to wake up? He was breathing just fine, but he didn't appear to be conscious.

"Mike..._Mike_...please wake up soon...c'mon man, don't make me call the doctors in here and put this all over the tabloids. Mike...?" John continued to shake Mike to a possible light, but began to grow frightened when he got nothing but weak breathing and a barely steady heartbeat. "Mike, I know you're there...wake up, man." Sadly, John was still met with no response. However, right before John was ready to scream for the doctors, Mikey's eyes popped open and he struggled to heave in his first few breaths.

"Mike? Hey, man!" John kept the awakening man on his side as he rubbed the side of his hip. As his hand mindlessly rubbed the side of his fallen partner, John couldn't help but notice that the younger superstar's blue eyes seemed to be a little on the red side at the moment; this couldn't of been a good thing at all. "Hey man...it's going to be okay. Nobody has to know about this...it's going to be our little secret, you understand me? Our little secret..." Michael wanted to burst out sobbing so badly that it ached, but he knew couldn't for many reasons; one being that his face was almost completely numb at the moment.

John removed his hand from his friend's hip and placed it onto his face as he held Mikey's chin in place. "Our match maybe later on in the show, but I don't think you'll be competing tonight. Not like this. You really do need to go to a doctor or something...but I don't want your face hitting the tabloids in such a horrible way. You're my friend, you know; I want to make sure that you're in better hands than what others want. I bag on you a lot...but what guy doesn't bag on his friend once in a while?" John stopped for a moment to let out a playful chuckle. "Despite your incredibly gay looking outfits, you're a terrific friend whose saved my ass at such big lengths. I need to repay the favor." The room was filled with silence for a moment before Michael finally tried to speak.

"'ohn?" John's eyebrow raised and he bent his head down a little closer to his friend. "Huh? Say what, Mikey?" Michael would feel his cold forehead affecting his entire body and he shivered. "Why 'id this hap'en?"

John sighed and ran his fingers through his friend's faux-hawk. "Epilepsy is an incredibly hard disorder to trace, Mike. The doctors can't always determine whether you're going to have it or not...they only know once you've had an attack and they do scans on your brain. My uncle has it...had it since he was eleven. He's been taking prescription pills for it ever since and he hasn't had a single seizure in about fifteen years." Mike attempted to open his mouth to speak again. "'ut John..." "Yeah, Mike?"

"What...if...I 'on't have epi'psy?" John's eyes shifted into a puzzled expression and he shook his head. "How do you _not_ have epilepsy, Mike? You had a seizure...that looks like epilepsy to me, dude. The only possible way that you could've had a seizure and you aren't diangnosed with epilepsy is that you have either an extremely dangerous infection in your system or you're diagnosed with one of the crazy people leveled mental disorders." Mikey shifted his eyes to the ceiling and breathed in from his nostrils. Whenever he could feel his lips gaining their presence once again, he continued to speak and even to where he managed to speak at least a little more clearly.

"I don't want anybody knowing about this, John. I 'now you said that you wouldn't tell...but I want your full assur'nce...please, _do not_ tell anybody about this." John looked down at the floor for a brief moment and sighed. Mike attempted to raise his eyebrow, but was a bit unsuccessful at doing so. "_John?_ Do I have your full assurance on this?" John looked back up at his friend and gave him a weak smile.

"Fine, I won't tell anybody. Since you're conscious, I can only assume that whatever came over you wasn't as bad as I originally assumed." Mike gave the older man as good of a smile as he could and held his hand up, shaking a little bit. John held his finger up and continued. "_But_...I _do_ suggest that you see a doctor or something later, away from everybody else. That way, even though the doctors will know, nobody else will." Mike shook his head and kept his shaky hand up.

"No way; _way_ too risky. The people here already hate me; no reason to make them have a bigger reason to haze me, Why do you think I never tell anybody about my minor head injuries that this job sometimes gives me?" The Shaman of Sexy heaved a deep and slapped his palm against his own forehead. "You're not Mister Bionic, Mike. You can't keep competing whenever you're injured and I think this experience right here just proves even further that you're being stupid trying to impress a group of men who hate you for your background. Hell, you're going to end up either trying to pull off a match with a broken leg or you're going to die because of the lack of care you take to your body!" Mike pushed his arm up a bit higher for John to reach. "I'm completely fine, John. This thing that happened to me minutes ago...it ain't anything. Probably just overheat or something that got me is all. I'm feeling okay right now and I bet you anything you want that I'll be one hundred and five percent ready for our match later tonight."

John scoffed at the fallen man and crossed his arms. "How much pride do you have, exactly? I mean, _overheat_? Seriously, Mike? What kind of dumbass do you take me for?" Mike groaned and began to wave his arm around. "Don't make me have to trip over just to get up, man. I may be able to talk now, but my legs are still a little numb. Just-_please_! Just don't tell anybody about this happening, alright? As far as the guys in the back are concerned, nothing happened. We were just bullshitting and I tripped over something. That's the story we can use if anybody asks, but I don't think they will-because _nobody knows_." John threw his arms up and began to raise his voice a little higher.

"That doesn't answer anything whatsoever regarding how this even happened to you in the first pla-"

"John, just stop worrying about it! I have this covered; _I'll live_."

John rubbed his fingertips against his forehead and sighed. "Fuck it; I'll believe you for once." The older man grabbed Mike's hand and finally decided to help him to his feet. Mike struggled a little bit to stand up and even wobbled a few times whenever he was up, forcing him to grab on to John a few times, but he managed to pull off standing on his own. "See John? Told ya that I could do it."

John rolled his eyes and patted his friend's shoulder. "Fine, you proved your point. Now, since you're _so_ convinced that you'll do this match fine, how about you continue getting ready for our match?" Mike grinned and slapped John's shoulder. "Glad to, buddy." John removed his hand from Mike's shoulder and walked over to his gym bag to finish getting ready for him and Mike's match against Cryme Time.

Michael managed to prove himself correct whenever their match finally came as he performed his job without any trouble and nobody catching on to what had happened to him earlier that night. What made it better was that The Dirt Sheet Duo defeated their current rivals easily. So not only was this night a victory for Miz and Morrison, it was also a victory for Michael. However, that still didn't stop Michael from wondering why the incident had even happened it the first place. How did something so unexpected, embarrassing, and potentially fatal happen to somebody as healthy as Michael Mizanin?

-  
Woah shit...I really countered this time. 0_0 Okay, maybe this chapter wasn't as simple as I originally thought. XD Well, hopefully this makes up for last week! And I want to thank **booxradley**, **Salem Dae**, and **Bourtonfreak13** for reviewing! :D


	19. Chapter 18: Where I Lie My Head

Pairings thus far: _**Minor mentionings of reluctant (ended) Miz/OCs(f), a one-time consensual (ended) Miz/OC(m), Miz is**__** crushing on Morrison, Shannon Moore has a girlfriend, one really small mention of (ended) Matt/Lita, Morrison/Melina, and abusive yet questionable content between Miz's two personas**_

**I have to return to school Wednesday...oh joy. *waits for the applause to come, but it never does* xD Of course, a little bit of good news here is that my best friend is having a baby, so YAAAY! :D I just got done having myself a nice, refreshing nap and now I can **_**try**_** to write this before I have to devote most of my time to doing homework. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!  
-**

**A few miles away from the Santa Monica Pier, first part of December, 2008**

Isn't it shocking how fast time just seems to fly on by? How a month can come and then it comes back as suddenly as it did the previous year? For instance, you could be celebrating your eighteenth birthday one day, but then the odd feeling of nostalgia may come once your twentieth birthday comes around as soon as you first tasted adulthood. Around this time last year, Michael was working while pining in disappointment due to the fact that his schedule was going to keep him from seeing his mother in time for Christmas. _This_ year, he was in the passenger seat of his best friend's car as The Shaman of Sexy drove the two men to the Pier for a little enlightening, but fun night in celebration of the fact that Tommy Dreamer had hinted out to the both of them that they were going to have some very wonderful surprises in store for their team in this month of December.

It seemed like a lot had been happening in the past few months for Mike Mizanin and he didn't know where to begin on trying to figure out why they had happened to him in the first place. First, him and Morrison were forced to have The Bella Twins, of all possible choices, as managers and, being the horndog he was at times, John didn't mind whatsoever and even flirted with the ladies off-screen. As much as Michael hated it, he often had no choice but to join John in these hit-ons or else John would've easily gotten suspicious of some very awkward things; another reason Michael had put so much emphasis to women on anything he owned on the internet. Of course, Michael supposed that maybe John's actions were mainly based on the fact that Melina had broken up with him a few nights prior to them finding out about their new managers. John had been such a wreck ever since and he tried his hardest to bottle up his emotions so that nobody could ever see his pain, but Michael saw right through him like a piece of glass.

**"Serves the fucker right, if you ask me."**

_"And how is that? _How_ is it that John deserves to have his heart ripped from his chest and bashed over with a hammer like that?"_

**"I already told you before; he's an asshole."**

_"...and _you_ aren't one, _too_?"_

Another thing on Mike's mind had been what had happened to him back in the middle of the year, whenever Michael had been found by his tag team partner jerking and twitching around on the floor. John had suggested that Mike had some kind of disorder that caused it to happen, but Michael insisted that nothing was wrong with him. Mike was almost certain that it was just a one time thing...or was it? Come to think of it, there had been times that he'd just completely black out and end up in a completely different place; it's something that's happened to him since he was in college and people eventually grew to hate him for things that, in all honesty, he couldn't even recollect doing. Had he passed out during those times or was it something else? He honestly couldn't remember...so what else has he done that he's had no memory of?

_"Miz...do you think you'll ever feel comfortable enough to tell me what those moments were and are about?"_

**"Tch-why the hell should I tell you anything about what I do in my spare time? You know, I'm highly limited to what I'm allowed to do whenever I'm in control of this worthless excuse of a body; so stay off my case, jerk-off."**

As far as the eye could see, Michael would probably never be enlightened on what these moments were all about even if he offered to give The Miz sexual favors for an answer; they were details that Miz kept extra close to himself and refused to ever let his other self in on what these activities were. Besides, Michael already had a feeling that it was best if he didn't know anything; at least that saved him from having to degrade himself by performing unmentionable acts on his alter ego. _"If I can't bring myself to do things like that to somebody in real life, what makes him think that I'll do it for _him_?"_ But, this was a thing that Mike would just have to keep on the absolute down low and try his hardest to not even think about it. If anything ever got bad enough that he'd realize that something was wrong, he'd probably, well...probably not do anything at all; what good would it honestly do him if he did?

For now, all that Michael wanted to truly focus on was him and John's trip to Santa Monica...a trip that both men deserved more than anybody else in the world right now. No, they weren't going out to get plastered or anything, but the thing about this idea that both men couldn't have agreed more on was that they needed more relaxation and easy living to help get themselves back into better than regular shape to perform for their jobs-their _careers_. Besides, John didn't exactly feel 'ready to party' for starters, anyway. So, what better plan for the two tag team partners to have was there than heading over to the pier for some cruising, maybe walking around in the cool, night breeze and just chilling out like regular human beings would in such an extravagant area? The answer to that question...there _was_ no better plan.

The two men sat in what would've been complete silence if it hadn't been for sound of the Corvette's motor purring while the wheels turned and rolled along with the distance and motion of John's somewhat chancy driving. Both the driver's side and passenger's side windows were cracked open in order to feel the adequate breeze of Santa Monica gently caressing the professional wrestlers' bodies. John's window was cracked all the way, causing his hair to be blown all around his head and Michael's was only halfway opened so that his fedora wouldn't fly away into the California night sky. The radio had been turned on for some time, but neither passenger could make out what was being said due to the rapidly flowing wind. Also, it didn't exactly help that John was driving ten miles above the speed limit.

Mike had been looking out through his window at the ocean, the teenagers hanging out and making out, and other passing cars. The life out there in California somehow reminded him of his own teenage years in Ohio-minus the ocean shores. Oh yes, him and his friends would cause as much mischief as a group of fifteen through seventeen year-old boys could out in late night Cleveland and were caught a couple times for violating curfew. One time, his old friend Jason had 'borrowed' some poppers from his parents' Fourth of July stash and used his cigarette lighter to light the firecrackers and toss them at Mike and the rest of his group, which eventually led to the entire group of boys almost getting busted by the police on the count of causing a neighborhood disturbance after the rest of the group had finally gotten a hold of the lighter and proceeded in randomly tossing poppers at each other. Ahh...those were such great times; what ever happened to those days?

_"Oh yeah...I graduated from high school."_

After he was finished reminiscing over the good ol' days, Mike slowly turned his head to examine the demeanor of his driver. Even though it was about 8:30 in the evening, John still wore his designer shades over his eyes and The Shaman of Sexy kept a face of stone, no emotion whatsoever. His hands had noticeably gripped onto the steering wheel so tightly that his blue blood veins were sticking outwards a hair. Oh how it was so obliviously obvious to tell that John had had a great deal of baggage on his mind! All that Michael could do was smile and keep trying to comfort him the best he could.

"So, is there anything in particular you want to do here or would you rather just walk around for a bit? Maybe sit at the docks for a little while?" John shrugged and kept his facial expression the same as it was before. "I don't really care; you decide." Michael now shrugged and let out a quiet chuckle. "I'm game for anything, man. I'm asking you because you look like you _aren't_."

"What do ya mean; I'm as game as a nerd waiting to play Warcraft."

"_Ha!_ Yeah right; you look like my mother whenever I'd bring home a 'D'! Now quit bullshitting me, dude."

Realizing that he didn't have enough heart in him that night to argue back with the younger man, John just sighed and shrugged again. "Ugh...I dunno-I guess we can go to the docks and hang for a while." Mike smiled and rested his left elbow on his knee and then rested the side of his jaw on his palm. "Sounds like an excellent plan to me." And with this being said, this is how the next three minutes (aka the rest of the drive) lasted for the two men.

Once the drive ended and the two men were out of the Corvette, they strolled along the wooden deck of the pier, carnival lights from the huge ferris wheel shining in the sides of their eyes and a couple of people recognized who they were and asked for autographs. The two gladly catered to their fans' wishes and signed their clothing, booklets, or even one guy's arm. _"Strange some of the stuff people want marked on..."_ Once the satisfied fans were on their way, the tag partners continued to head onwards toward the dock area and eventually made it without anymore distractions.

Once the two were finally more comfortable to be away from the public eye just a bit, John walked over to the edge of the boat dock and sat himself down cross-legged, soon followed by Michael. As Michael lowered himself to his backside and in the process of crossing his legs, he felt the need to begin a conversation with the sullen John Hennigan. "_Ah_...what a _beautiful_ night, wouldn't you say?" Once the fedora wearing newcomer was seated, the long haired man set his palms onto the ground behind him and leaned back. "Eh-I suppose so."

The Greatest Tag Team of The 21st Century stared onward towards the water just a foot away from the two and listened to the distant sound of boat horns beeping and people laughing and having fun over at the carnival. The dark clouds had finally evaporated in the night sky and Santa Monica was blessed with the beautiful abundance of hundreds of tiny, but bright stars keeping the company of the crescent moon beginning to form as the night grew later. Why, if you looked into the water, you could see your own reflection being surrounded by The Big Dipper's handle if you were lucky enough! So with the already established cool breeze and starry night, one could only assume that this would've been the most romantic place you could possibly be, correct? Michael thought the same thing and turned his jacket collar closer to his cheek when he could feel his stomach flutter and his face get warmer. And, as always, Mikey decided to hide his awkwardness by desperately trying to think of something else to talk about.

"Hehe-_umm_..."

Total silence followed on John's part.

"S_ooo_..."

More silence followed and Michael rubbed the back of his head, chuckling nervously under his breath.

**"**_**Oooh boy**_**...I can already tell this is going to be a massive failure at maximum proportions. I told you, Mike-I **_**told**_** you celebrating you and John's mystery push whenever he's feeling like total shit wouldn't work, but did you listen to me? **_**Noo...never**_** listen to **_**The Miz**_**. He doesn't know what he's talking about, he's a fucking idiot, he can't-"**

_"Dude, I get it already! Just _please_ let me try and ease the mood a bit, alright?"_

"_Ehhmm_...so, what do you think management has in store for us? You know...our big push as a tag team?"

Once again, not a single word was muttered by The Shaman of Sexy. Mike heaved in a deep sigh, muttered something along the lines of, "Forget it" and lowered his head to face his reflection in the water. But, right as Mikey was about to give up trying to talk to the older man, John finally spoke up. "Mike...can I ask you something?" Mike turned his head to face the quiet man and his eyes opened a little more. "Sure, John. Ask me anything you want." John lowered his head to face his lap, removed his shades and placed them inside his jacket pocket, and spoke in a quiet, almost incoherent voice.

"Amiugly?" Mike failed to hear his partner the first time and tilted his head a bit lower and made a noise with his throat. "Hmm?" John rose his voice and raised his head up to face his friend with pink eyes. "Am I ugly, Mike? Am I fucking ugly!"

Once Michael got a look at John's face, one that normally showed stern determination, he could see now that none of the determination which had been present in the past was with this man anymore...and it tore Mizanin's heart to shreds. Mike's mouth dropped open and he began to quickly shake his head side to side. "No...absolutely not, John. W-What ever gave you _that_ idea?" John's nerves irked at how soft his friend's voice had become and he shook his head. "You're lying...you're lying, Michael..."

Michael's eyes shifted from John's eyes to his own hands as he scooted himself closer to his distressed co-worker. "No, John...I'm not lying." Once he was closer to the older man, Mike's eyes went back to John's face. "You look great, man. You're blessed with looks that some guys out there would _kill_ to have." John sighed and looked back at his lap.

"Well...apparently _Mel_ didn't think-"

"John, who cares about what she thinks? She was_ lucky _to have somebody that looks like you."

"Obviously it wasn't good enough...and even knowing that I couldn't stand a chance being with her, I gave her my heart-my soul, even! I gave her everything, Michael; _everything_! I never once fooled around behind her back with other people and I never used her for anything other than to have her by my side for me to take care of and to love! I treated her right, I stayed faithful, I've risked my life and even my career for her-what the fuck is wrong with me, Michael? What do I keep doing wrong?"

A brief moment of silence fell upon the two celebrities and Michael finally killed the silence by wrapping his right arm around John's neck and resting his chin on John's shoulder, still keeping his soft toned voice. "You did nothing wrong, John. You didn't do a damn thing to her...you were the greatest boyfriend she could ever hope to have had and she threw it all away. She was nothing but a user and a liar; you deserve so much better than her and I feel that you know that already...don't you?" John shrugged slowly and finally nodded. "How can I _not_ know that? She treats me like _garbage_...yet she makes me feel like the most powerful man on Earth whenever I'm around her...I'm pretty much stuck, man." Mike's heart sank about five levels deep within his chest, but he managed to keep his cool for John's sake.

"So...you're pretty much _set_ on her, aren't you?" John breathed in through his nostrils and tilted his head to lean up against Michael's head. "Yeah...pretty much...it's absolute torture, but that's what happens when you're in love." For an unknown reason which Michael still didn't have the answer for to this day, everything that had been holding him back for so long, so many years...they felt like they wanted to disappear at that very moment and leave Michael to live the life that he so desperately wished he could live instead of the one he currently had...the one that involved a lot of lies from his own mouth. Of course, this feeling didn't stay gone for very long, but it certainly left long enough for Mike to ask John something that he, in all honestly, had not the courage to ever ask _anybody_ before.

"John...?"

"Yeah, Mikey?

Michael braced himself for a moment and then just went out and asked.

"How does it feel to be in love? I mean...how do you know when you've truly _fallen_ for somebody?

**"Whoa...whoa, whoa, whoa, **_**WHOA**_**! What the hell did you just ask him, Mikey?"**

John turned his head to face the man in question and exhaled through his nostrils. "Love, Michael...love is a confusing, torturing thing to have to endure. First, it makes you feel..._alive_. Like you're living the life that you've always wanted-always looked for...the person who makes you feel the way you do is the very person you think of the moment you wake up to the very moment you close your eyes for a good night's sleep. You begin to realize that over time, you wouldn't be able to survive without this person being by your side...even if it's as a friend. This person can make you feel so many things at one time, Mike. You can be mad at them, but want to fall asleep beside them at the same time. It's when you're having sex with somebody, but you do it for the both of you rather than just yourself. They are the ones that...that all you want to do is hold them in your arms, kiss all of their pain away...make them feel like they are wanted on this planet. Yeah...it's a great feeling...but love is also the devil's way to bring you to your knees, crying, begging...wishing for your eternal demise. This same person who can make you feel so many great things...well...they can also tear you apart-shred by shred-and make you positively _hate_ them, but...at the same time, you can't get enough of them...and you're forever stuck chasing after them like a lost puppy. That, my friend, is the best summary of love that I can give you." Michael listened to every word, hanging off each and every thing said. The former 'Real World' star didn't know what scared him more: the description to what love was, or the fact that he actually thought hard about John's next question.

"Why do you ask, man? Think you might be in love?"

At John's question, Michael's heart seemed to have done some kind of weird pattern of barely beating to beating like a pissed off drummer and his stomach fluttered more than it ever had before. "I-I...I don't know. That's why I asked..." Silence came once again as Michael went over quite a lot of emotions and thoughts inside his head. Shockingly enough, Mike wasn't hearing much commentary from Miz; maybe he finally decided to see things Mike's way? _"Highly doubtful..."_

But Miz surely wouldn't be too quiet over Mike's next statement...

"Now that you told me that...would it make me sound pathetic if I said that..._yes_? I think I might be in love?" John shook his head and smiled. "No more pathetic than I am." Michael chuckled and looked back at his friend. "That says a lot."

John chuckled a little bit and wrapped his arm around Michael's waist, causing Mike's heart to speed up to the rate of a race horse on cocaine since this now seemed like the two were..._cuddling_ (or so Michael wished, anyway). As much as it made Mike feel deeply ashamed of himself, it was one of those moments where he just wanted to tell John to kiss him by the ocean and make sweet, passionate love to him under the stars. Mizanin couldn't deny that, over the course of the year that he had known John Hennigan, he had found himself growing closer and closer to the man-even to the point of risking his career for John's own. Mike couldn't even get ready to go out somewhere anymore without thinking about the older man and how he'd like how Michael looked. Now that Michael had come to terms that love might've actually been what this whole thing was about, it became pretty clear to the younger man now as to why he had hated Melina so much even before he had known about her unfaithfulness; he knew deep down that John deserved somebody so much better than that whore. But, she was the winner in the situation that...she'd always be able to have somebody that he never could call his...

The night eventually ended with Mike's mind officially open to new possibilities and John feeling relieved that he finally had the nerve to talk about his problems to somebody other than Melina. John drove his friend and himself home and Michael managed to get home at about eleven in the evening. Michael was sure that his night was going to end with no problem other than the loads of thoughts he had to think about in his slumber, but this changed. While in the middle of changing into his sleepwear, Michael couldn't remember anything after slipping his boxers on...all he knew was that he heard Miz's voice say something along the lines of,**"I told you time and time again..." **and Mike woke up the next morning hunched over his bathtub with vomit stains on his shirt...

-  
Surprise! You got some fluff outta this chapter! :D *throws confetti* Sorry that this chapter had to have kind of a crappy ending with the last paragraph, but hey-it's all there for a reason. :) Anyway, I give thanks to **Bourtonfreak13**, **Salem Dae**, and **booxradley** for the kind reviews! :3


	20. Chapter 19: Slammys & Difficult Tests

Pairings thus far: _**Minor mentionings of reluctant (ended) Miz/OCs(f), a one-time consensual (ended) Miz/OC(m), Miz is growing more attached to Morrison, Shannon Moore has a girlfriend, one really small mention of (ended) Matt/Lita, (ended) Morrison/Melina, and abusive yet questionable content between both of Miz's personas**_

**Alright, I was originally planning to write this chapter a different way that went a little more in depth with the actual event rather than...what your about to read, but I cannot find a video reference to save my life. Seriously, I typed in several different variations of the thing (2008 WWE Slammy Awards/Tag Team of the Year 2008/Miz and Morrison Victory Speech for 2008 Slammys, etc, etc...) and I ended up getting a Randy Orton tribute video. :( *lays on stomach, silently cursing Youtube for giving me such fuckery* So...I had to think of a different way to write this, which along with school is the reason this took a while to do. D: So...uh...let's give this a whirl, shall we? **_**Oh, and just as a warning, this chapter gets very, VERY perverted. **_***realizes that I just typed this and reread the first few sentences of the chapter...**_**now**_** seeing slight perversion in them* Oh**_** dammit**_**, this is what happens when you just get done finishing up a slashy overtoned chapter. *facepalms* XD Anyway, just letting you know just in case you're offended by that sort of thing. :)  
-**

**Mike and John's locker room after the December 8th edition of Raw, 2008**

_"It's so...so _beautiful_, man...heh, I can't seem to stop touching it..."_

**"Yeah, well you better stop touching it like that; you're getting the sweat from your palms all over the damn thing!"**

_"I can't help it, alright? After so long of being ridiculed by the boys in the back, being called a hack and even hazed like back in college...I have something here that proves that I deserve to be here in this company. I can finally hold my head up high whenever I receive bad treatment for being a newbie."_

**"Hey, don't get a big dick over it, Mikey. It's just a worthless award-it practically compares to a mediocre excuse of a middle school trophy awarded to the hot shot fucker on the basketball team for losing the least amount of games."**

_"Last time I checked, _no _award to me has ever been considered 'worthless'."_

For decades now, WWE has always had a prestigious gathering of some sort that brought together only the best of best of the year passing. At this gathering, certain competitors were nominated for an award as to being the absolute best in a particular category of talents. Whoever were to win this award would not only be known as the best at what they did, but they also got to have a very nice looking achievement to place onto their resume if the case were that another wrestling corporation needed their talents. This event, ladies and gentlemen, was called The Slammy Awards. Also, winning was somewhat of a shock, yet not so much for the two young athletes that had won not one, but _two_ awards that very night, the tag team of John Morrison and The Miz.

The two had first won an award for Tag Team of the Year and then won one for Best Web show (considering that only a few others even existed in the first place). Out of every single superstar on the show, the two best friends had won more awards than anybody else. And, if this weren't enough already, Mike had also gotten a special mention in an article as to being The Most Improved Star of 2008. Oh man-the looks on all of the guys backstage...it was absolutely priceless. Yeah, it wasn't Superstar of the Year or anything, but it was a damn good start!

**"Big whoop, you're still one of the most hated superstars on this entire roster."**

_"Umm...Miz? Don't you mean that _you_ are the most hated person here?"_

**"Haters will hate; they still know I'm beyond compare in terms of how **_**perfect**_** I am."**

Mike rolled his eyes at Miz's inner comment and just continued to sit on the wooden bench in him and his partner's locker room while rubbing the shiny exterior of his Slammy award for Tag Team of the Year, grinning a grin that made him look like what Beavis would look like if he were wearing a black jacket, a black and red fedora, and a matching scarf. John was standing in front of the room's wall-length mirror, posing with the two trophies and whispering..._'inspiring'_ words of wisdom to himself. "Who's The Shaman of Sexy? _I'm_ the Shaman of Sexy, The Guru of Greatness, The Tuesday Night Delight..." Mike's eyes slowly escaped from the trophy's seductive shimmer and focused themselves on his overly-conceited tag team partner. The younger man smiled and finally decided to comment the older man, using animated hand gestures at the same time.

"Well John...we did it. Can you believe it, man? We are actually The Tag Team of the Year-_us_! John Morrison and The Miz, The Dirt Sheet Duo, The Greatest Tag Team of the 21st Century..." John lowered his arms, still holding on to the two awards and grinning through the mirror. "I'll admit, this is a first even for _me_. And you know what? I don't think I'd want to have any other partner but you for this moment. I mean, look at what all we've accomplished in this past...almost two years. You and I, Mikey, we're untouchable. Nobody can hope to even come close to being as successful as you and I. Hell, I wasn't even this popular whenever I first came to this show with Adam and Mel!" Mike set his trophy beside him on the bench and he curled his fingers together. "See? Didn't I tell you that you didn't need Mel to be a hit amongst the WWE Universe?"

John rolled his eyes and turned around to face the younger man. "I know that I don't need a pair of titties beside me to make me seem popular, but I'd sure love to have some beside me for..._other_ purposes." Mike fought off the urge to roll his eyes and held his arms out, wrists sticking out, and began to simulate inappropriate thrusts in hopes of humoring The Guru of Greatness. This idea worked like a charm and John began to mimic Mike's actions with an animated smile on his mug. "Yee-hehe-ah...like that."

Michael dropped his arms to his side and finally caved in to his desire to roll his eyes. John's arms soon dropped and he looked up at the white wall clock, which was just over the door. "You know, the show's been over for almost an hour now; think we can probably head on out now?" Michael gave the long-haired man a sneaky smirk and responded with, "Not in _those_ clothes, buddy." It was that moment that John realized that him and Mike were still dressed in the exact same clothes that they had worn for The Slammys (which wasn't a big deal for Mikey since the weather was cold anyway; John, on the other hand, was still in his wrestling gear).

"Fair enough. I'll get changed and you can pack the rest of your crap up." Mike shrugged and lifted himself from his seat. "Sounds like a plan to me; I've been wanting to get some sleep ever since I was forced to watch John Cena and Chris Jericho duke it out for the fifty-seventh time this month." Mizanin's comment went ignored as he turned away from John and started grabbing his gear up from the ground, which was just his black capri pants and his customary 'Chick Magnet' muscle tee. Oh, how he awaited for the day that this gimmick would just die already; how was anybody expected to ever take him seriously as a competitor whenever he wore outfits like this?

**"Hey you gotta admit; we look damn sexy in these outfits."**

_"Hmmm, well...we _do_, don't we?"_

**"Oh-hoho-**_**yes**_** we do, Michael. Just look at a picture of yourself in the getup...you'll get a hard one. I guarantee it."**

_"_Yeah_...alright. I don't get erections just by looking at myself, bro."_

**"Suit yourself...but I bet you'll get one if you choose to turn around right **_**now**_**..."**

_"Huh?"_

Curious, Michael turned his head to view what was behind him and, surely enough, Miz was absolutely right. The sight that blessed Mike's very eyesight was John's back turned to the younger man, sliding his right leg out of his tight furry pants and throwing them against the wall, leaving him in just his white briefs. Of course, this wasn't the first time Mike had ever seen John in little or no clothing; however, Mike usually just tried his best to keep his eyes away from his partner as much as possible whenever he knew he was going to be naked...even though this has failed a couple of times in the past and he's been forced to compete in matches while an obvious lump in his capris was visible to the perverted eye. _"I swear I should stop wearing boxers..." _Of course, the uncomfortable throbbing in Michael's jeans didn't come until he noticed John's left hand go to the waistline of the underwear and slowly slide his fingers through the elastic.

If anybody ever told you that John Hennigan had the body of a god...they would've been so right on the dot that it could've hurt somebody. The white briefs were so well fit around his waist that his ass looked like it had been personally sculpted by the Greeks. The room light shined a luminous light onto John's long and smooth back as his right hand repeated the actions of his left hand and the hands together pulled the briefs from his waist onto the floor. See, John was like Mike where he preferred boxers over briefs, but the only way that he could make himself look as sexy in the ring as he was in real life was if he wore something that added emphasis to the tightness of his crotch and backside. It most certainly worked, didn't it?

Mike's breathing began to speed up a bit as the smooth, tan skin of his best friend made it's appearance for the professional wrestler. Even though the only inappropriate thing that Mike could see right now was just John's perfectly firm, baby soft skinned ass, that alone sent his mind straight into the gutter. John lifted his feet away from the discarded clothing and began to turn around to where he'd be facing his hot and bothered buddy. Mike quickly looked away and continued to collect his things from the locker room floor while John walked over right next to The Chick Magnet to open his gym bag. The corner of Mike's eye glanced over at the completely nude man, eyeballing the perfectly chiseled body up and down slowly.

**"A**_**ha**_**! There **_**is**_** an inner pervert within Mike Mizanin!"**

_"Yeah, _you_."_

**"Uh-uh-uh, no dice. This is all you this time."**

_"Shut up."_

**"Awww, the short answer syndrome, I see. Oh well, you're too busy thinking of something much, **_**much**_** more fascinating than me bagging on you. Wait a minute, actually there is **_**nothing**_** more important than that!"**

Contrary to Miz's logic, the images and scenarios going through Michael's head were about five hundred times more interesting than..._anything_ else right now to the younger man. John was still hovering over his gym bag, every exterior organ on him perfectly visible from the view Michael had. The California native's backside stuck out, his back curved upward in a half-moonish fashion and his penis hung limp, but not totally flaccid. _"Be a good boy, Mikey...be a good boy, Mikey...oh lord..."_ The uncomfortable pulsating in Michael's pants began to evolve into unbearable tinges of pain and erotic fury desperately wanting to be released.

Once John had taken out his jeans, shirt/jacket, and his socks, he realized that he was missing something rather important; his boxers. He threw his arms up and began to complain about the inconvenience. "What the_ fuck_? Where's my underwear? Mike, you aren't pulling a gag on me, are you?" _"I wish I could be pulling _something_..."_ "Uh-ummm...no? Why would I want to have anything to do with your underwear, John?"

"I don't know, maybe your a sick freak that likes going through other men's under garments."

"Now now, John, don't tell me your sexual fetishes that you get off on."

"Very funny, asswipe. Now seriously, where's my clothes?"

"Dude, I honestly don't know. Maybe you never put them back in your bag and they're on the floor somewhere."

With this being said, John turned around and began his epic conquest for underwear while, in the meantime, Mike continued to please his inner fancies by watching his ultra sexy tag team partner run around the room naked. "Uggh...dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit...where the hell are they?" Mike took a seat back onto the wooden bench and examined the situation at hand rather thoroughly. Right now, other than feeling unbearably horny, Mike couldn't help but feel extremely ashamed of himself for even listening to The Miz in the first place. He should've just kept his eyes to his own business, but now he felt so awkward and dirty that it was hard to even pretend that he wasn't feeling the way he was. And it just became even more difficult whenever John figured that maybe his boxers were under the bench and decided to crouch down and check...right under where Mike was sitting at.

Mike bit his bottom lip and whined under his breath. John began to scoot a little closer to the man, forcing Mike's natural instincts to cover his crotch with the ends of his jacket as John mumbled curses under his breath. "Son of a motherfucking bitch..." It eventually got the the point where John was pretty much between Mike's leg's searching for the missing piece of clothing; you can only guess that this made things even worse for the newcomer. "Are you _sure_ you didn't hide it somewhere?"

"Yes-very, _very_ sure."

"Well, I can't find it anywhere, man..."

"Umm...well-uhh..."

"Hmmm...did I look in the locker yet?"

"You should totally try that. Like right now. _Go_."

John ignored Mike's pleas and just continued to search for his missing shorts under the wooden bench. After John finally got the point that the missing article of clothing wasn't under the bench, he stood up, still facing Michael, and he placed his hands on his hips...allowing Michael to eyeball the older man's beautiful abs that linked to his happy trail leading to...well, very happy places. As John stood, unaware of Mike's body language, he heaved a deep sigh and stared up at the ceiling. Mike's arousal was so horrible at the moment that it took a lot, and that means _A LOT_ of will power to fight off the urge to drop to his knees, wrap his hands around John's waist, and take his penis into his mouth. _"Is he doing this just to fuck around with me?"_

Finally, whenever Mike felt like he was about to brutally explode, he quickly reached into his pocket and grabbed his cell phone. He held it up to his ear and pretended to be hearing voices. "Hello?...Hey Mom...What?..._What_ happened?...Oh shit, hang on a sec." He held he phone against his neck and looked at John. "John, I'll be back; my mom's sick!"

Without even letting John have a word in, Mike shot out of the door at the speed of frightened alley cat and immediately made his way to the restroom. He shoved the cell phone back into his pocket and entered the room, quickly going for the first open stall he could find and locking himself inside of it. The seat was already up, so all the young man had to do was just...well you should probably get the point by now. To Mike's shocking luck, nobody else was in the room and therefore he wouldn't have to risk one of the boys in the back sneaking up on him and taking pictures of the lewd act he was committing in secrecy. But that didn't stop The Miz from adding in his own comments.

**"Wow...I can't believe I'm about to say this, but I'm quite impressed with you, Mike."**

_"Impressed with what?"_

**"Well, you know...the fact that you actually kept it in your pants and then came here to fix your little problem. I thought a total moron such as yourself would've tried to seduce the son of a bitch!"**

_"Miz, I'm not that stupid. No matter what you think, I'm far smarter than you know."_

**"Yeah, yeah, yeah...whatever. You passed the test, so..I guess congrats."**

_"Wait..._test? What _test?"_

**"Well...**_**this**_** test. I encouraged you to watch John undress and act like a total fucktard, knowing that it would've gotten a huge rise out of you. I wanted to see if you could contain yourself in the heat of a sexually frustrating event. Needless to say, you proved today that you could do it. So...I guess good job and stuff. Have fun rubbing one out like the loser you are."**

_"I _really _fucking hate you..."_

Mike spent about five minutes in the stall 'ridding' his problem away and, once he finally reached orgasm, he felt like falling over against the wall and just staying there for about two hours. But of course, he first pushed the lever on the porcelain, sounding the loud flushing noise and he zipped himself back up before leaving to return to John, who ironically enough had found his boxers in the very spot he didn't check; the locker. Imagine that. And to think that Michael could've saved himself early from having a completely _humiliating_ fit of sexual desires. Oh well, nothing that a cigarette or two couldn't help.

-  
I told you that this chapter gets very dirty! My inner porn writer came out today and...yeah. This chapter happened as a result. XD So I apologize to anybody who read this and found themselves to be morally disturbed by the content. D: And so, I humbly thank **Bourtonfreak13**, **booxradley**, and **Salem Dae** for reviewing! :D


	21. Chapter 20: The Alternative To Coal

Pairings thus far: _**Minor mentionings of reluctant (ended) Miz/OCs(f), a one-time consensual (ended) Miz/OC(m), Miz is growing more attached to Morrison, Shannon Moore has a girlfriend, one really small mention of (ended) Matt/Lita, (ended) Morrison/Melina, and abusive yet questionable content between both of Miz's personas**_

**Once again, I apologize for not updating this in a while. My excuse this time for not updating? Well, let's just say that the teachers weren't lying when they said that Senior Year was going to be busy as hell. D: That, and I also have been busy getting information for a college that I received a $16,000 grant for in the mail. :D And lastly to that, I have a job interview Tuesday. So yeah...I've been a bit busy lately. XD But now, I'm going to attempt to get this chapter written so I can keep this going because I actually intend on finishing it at some point in time...even though I'm only about half-way through this story. XD Hope you guys enjoy!  
-**

**A rented, gray Toyota RAV4 about ten miles from its destination in Cleveland, Ohio, just a few days from Christmas, 2008**

Boy, how time sees to just fly on by, huh? It only seemed like last week that the creatures inhabiting the planet known as the humans were celebrating the New Year with festive activities and parties all across the globe. But now these same creatures were looking at things with a slightly calmer approach as young adults from all over were taking time away from work to travel towards the state of their upbringing for a little family time. Everybody needs a little time off; even Mike Mizanin. And also The Miz.

**"This is total bullshit, Mike. You and I should be on the road towards our next event; not to your mommy's house!"**

_"Look, we've worked our asses off this year; don't you think we could use a least a _little_ time off? I mean, John's doing that right now in California, is he not?"_

**"Yeah, but **_**John**_** isn't visiting his mother; he's visiting a tramp that he's officially taken back about two thousand times now."**

_"Well, for one, I'm pretty sure it hasn't been that many times yet; this has actually just been his _third_ time doing that. Secondly, that's not my problem. And, lastly, I don't exactly have a significant other that I can cuddle up in front of a toasty fire with. My mom's been there for me through thick and thin; what kind of son would I be to just completely forget about her and not even bother coming for Christmas? I already feel bad enough missing out on Christmas _last _year!"_

**"First off, that's pretty sad that you're actually keeping track with that bullshit. Secondly, yes it is your problem and thirdly, that's actually **_**why**_** it's your problem. And as for your mother, that bitch is obviously not there for you if you can't even trust her with your darkest secrets."**

_"Fuck off, dude; that's my mother you're talking about!"_

**"And so you won't comment on anything else, I see. **_**Interesting**_**..."**

As hard as it was to concentrate with The Miz babbling on and on about everything possibly negative in Michael's life, the young man tried his hardest to keep his mind primarily on driving and his eyes glued to the thousand upon thousands of white ice crystals lying ahead of him for miles to come. Ohio had gotten a good amount of snow this time around, but not enough to hold people back in their homes. There had been families driving together in town, children running all over the neighborhoods, and couples, young and old, walking hand-in-hand in the street together with their large coats and gloves keeping them warm. Mike couldn't held but smile the few times that he had been stopped by a red traffic light and sat back in his car seat, watching how much his fellow Clevelanders took pleasure in starting snow ball fights with each other, building snowmen, and rolling around in the snow, forming snow angels.

**"All of this happiness and joy makes me want to upchuck, bro."**

After a while of admiring the beautiful city of his youth, Mike finally managed to come across a "Parma: 5 Miles Left" sign and flipped his turn signal on. Seeing that he was already going reasonably slow since the roads were icy, Michael just turned the steering wheel and made his turn, proceeding onward to Parma at almost 35 miles per hour. As excited as Michael was to be visiting his beloved family who had raised him to be the man he was today, he didn't want to zip through the neighborhood like a race car driver and end up sliding so badly that he crashed into a building or worse; somebody's house or even his own family's. Not to mention the expenses he'd have to pay on the rented Toyota. _"Eh, the car could use a few tweaks here and there, like a heater and radio...not to mention that this thing guzzles gas like a battle tank, but I'd rather make payments on my own car instead of a dealer-owned 2006 Toyota RAV4. I know, I know; I can be a bit stingy with my pocket change sometimes."_

Even though he knew very well that it would only take just a few minutes if even that to get to his mother's house, Michael began to become rather anxious but excited at the same time. Would his folks like the gifts he had bought for them? Who all besides his mother and Roger would be waiting for him? Were any of his old friends in town? Would this crappy car even have enough gas to make it to his old house, which was only a down the street?

Fortunately, the answers to these questions were revealed in under two minutes once Michael actually found the house and slowly pulled into the driveway, next to two other vehicles. The young man pushed the lever into 'park' and turned the key, shutting off the motor. Before the professional wrestler could even exit his rented vehicle, he could see his 19 year-old step-sister, Tonia, appearing from the front door of the house and waving at him. Mike waved back at her and proceeded in exiting the vehicle while the young woman turned around, facing the inside of the household. She used both of her hands to cup over her mouth and shouted, "Hey, Mikey's here! He's_ here_!"

Michael slammed the car door shut and turned in just enough time to realize that the brunette was now charging towards him with open arms. "Mikeeeeey!" Suddenly before Michael knew it, his sister was now hanging off his shoulders, arms tightly wrapped around his neck, head placed on his right shoulder, and the woman's legs waving in the air, feet kicking Mike's sides a few times. "Hiya, big brother! Long time no see!" The 28 year-old wrapped his arms around the woman's waist to assure she wouldn't fall on her ass, luckily having enough strength not to tip the both of them over.

"Hey sis...nice to see you, too."

"So whatcha been up to?"

"Well...traveling the world, making money, getting kicked by men other than my own half-sister-quit kicking me!"

"Awww, what's the matter? You can handle being manhandled by other men, but you wince in pain when your little sissy kicks you?"

"Haha, very funny, Toni."

Toni giggled heartfully and finally let go of the often wounded young man, getting herself back onto her feet. "So you decided to be the good brother this year instead of Jimmy, huh?" Michael smiled a caring smile and shrugged. "Ehh...what kind of brother would I be to you if I didn't show up for the Holy Man's birthday, right?" Tonia crossed her arms and tilted her head.

"Well I figured that you wouldn't show up like last year, considering what your profession is and all. But, you managed to _once again_ prove me wrong. Jimmy, on the other hand, couldn't get time off from his boss."

"Is he still working for Mr. Whatshisface over at AM Trust?

"Mr. Burns?"

"Yeah, that guy."

"Yep, and Burns is still the same asshole he was last time you visited."

"You mean Mister "Get back to work doing MY work or your ass is canned and stuffed down the shitter" Burns?"

Toni laughed and confirmed this while and unknown man stepped outside and wrapped his arms around the young woman. "Hey-_whoa_! I didn't see you there, Tom." The man chuckled and gave Toni a big kiss on her cheek, causing Mike to cross his arms and raise his eyebrow, grinning an amused expression. "Well looky _here_; looks like Toni's snagged herself a man, I see!" Mike's sister turned her head to return the man's kiss upon his lips and then the couple both turned to face Michael Mizanin.

"Mikey, this is Tom." She then turned to face Tom and said in the same tone, "Tom, this is my step-brother, Michael." Tom smiled and held his hand out to Michael, having it grabbed respectfully and shaken by the man in question. "Nice to meet you finally, Mike. Toni's told me so much about you and I honestly didn't believe her at first when she said that you were The Miz from WWE. But..._shit_ was I wrong!"

Mike chuckled and responded with, "Nope, my sis wasn't lying, bro. I'm that totally awesome, super talented legend that's on TV every week." Toni rolled her eyes and playfully slapped Mike in the arm. "Bull_shit_, you only wish you were!" Mike let go of Tom's hand and pulled his jacket collar up, closing his eyes and flashing his signature 'cocky bastard' grin. "Ah, silly sister; if Chuck Norris cannot hurt me, what makes you think _you_ can?"

Toni bit her lower lip, trying not to smile and shook her head. "You're too damn good at that, Mikey." Mike opened his eyes and gave her a genuine smile and tapped her shoulder. "Acting classes are the best, right?" After a few minutes of being outside, the three adults began to shiver and realize that being outside in the snow for too long can cause serious illness, thus leading to them entering the old house.

Mike's mother was cooking a nice dinner for the company in her household while his step-father, Roger, was finishing up the last few Christmas cards he had forgotten to send out to his aging relatives. Of course, this was put off until later once again whenever he noticed his step-son walking through the front door of his house. The middle-aged man had gotten up from his recliner chair and greeted Michael with kind words and a hug. "'Ey, Mikey. How's it going, champ? And, if I recall correctly, calling you 'champ' would be very accurate, wouldn't it?" Mike couldn't help but let a huge smile come across his face as he let go of the oldish man and patted his back, greeting him politely with equally kind words.

_"So my parents _do_ still watch wrestling..._sweet_"_

**"Dude, just because you won the other set of tag belts now doesn't mean that your family is necessarily proud of you. I mean, you're kind of a disgraceful son once you think about it...performing moves the incorrect way just to keep people from getting hurt and acting like a total tool every week..."**

_"Gee, thanks for ruining my moment there, Miz."_

**"Anytime, buddy."**

The day progressed as the family all caught up with old times and the like of everything that's happened within the past year. Mike told a couple stories about being on the road, Toni talked about how her and Tom had met, Roger talked about his retirement plan that would be put into full effect within the next year or two and Mike's mother discussed holiday spirit and the nerve of some of the Wal-Mart shoppers. All in all, it was almost like Michael was a teenager again except Toni wasn't dating the school bad boy anymore. _"God did Roger throw a fit over that Brad Rizzo! That kid was no good from the get-go...little punk from New York who thought he was hot shit just because he started smoking cigarettes when he was ten..." _Well, also there was the fact that Mike felt the need to act brotherly towards Tom to compensate for the fact that his step-brother, Jimmy wasn't home. So it was needless to say that Tom probably felt very at home whenever his girlfriend's brother would randomly put him in a headlock and tackle him to the floor.

But still, by the end of the first day, everybody had gotten a bit tired out from all of the fun and ruckus and headed on to bed. Toni and Tom had rented a hotel room a few miles away in town since her old bedroom was too small to accompany the both of them and Michael stayed in his old bedroom. It was such an odd feeling stepping into his old bedroom again; nothing had changed whatsoever! His Def Leppard posters were in the exact same spots they had been growing up, his crappy old television set was still in it's spot against the wall, his dresser was still there-hell, even his only Nirvana poster was still on his closet door (as much as he didn't want to admit it, Michael thought Kurt Cobain was amazingly hott whenever he was a teenager). Everything was where it was whenever he moved out...boy did the nostalgia ensue!

**"I don't really give a shit about your old memories, Mike. So...how about you just shut up about the '**_**good**_** ol' days'?"**

_"Well of course you won't like hearing about it; you didn't come until my college years..."_

**"Even then, your memories that have formed before my existence are of no importance to me whatsoever."**

_"Only because they have nothing to do with _you_."_

_**"Exactly!"**_

Yes, the visit was fine, relaxing, and just everything Michael needed...but that didn't mean that there weren't any points where Mike couldn't help but feel in blue funk. The worst moment of melancholy came on Christmas Eve whenever everybody had been asleep except for The Demon of Desire himself...who, needless to say, was in a mood that was far from Miz's cocky and perverted outlook. You know how when the streams running through a dam are flowing steadily and then, in a sudden disaster, the dam starts to show it's cracks and the levees slowly begin go come undone before finally exploding? Let's say that Michael was in the stage where the levees were showing signs of cracking at this moment. And, in the utmost predicable event of all time, The Miz made matters far worse than how it should've been.

**"Whine, whine, whine-cry, cry, cry, bitch, bitch, fucking **_**bitch**_**! Do you ever do anything else other than feel sorry for yourself? I swear, you're like the Hamlet of professional wrestling!"**

_"I know, I know; it's pathetic to feel so down so often...but I honestly can't help it. Just because you make me out to be a careless bastard doesn't mean I actually am."_

**"Well maybe if you were just a **_**little**_** bit careless, you wouldn't be feeling so goddamn shitty all the time."**

After successfully smuggling gifts from his car and into the house where they laid beside the other Christmas gifts under the tree, Michael heaved a deep sigh and took a seat in his step-father's recliner chair which sat in front of the fireplace. After feeling the cold breeze of the room hitting against his bare arms, he finally gave up trying to rough it and pulled some starter logs from out of the floor cabinet and used them to start a slowly building fire. After taking a seat back in the chair, that was when the depression started to kick in. And it only got worse the more and more he thought over the random things crashing against his membrane's walls.

The sky blue eyes of the young athlete shimmered in the dancing flames like two diamonds waiting to be dug from the Earth. They've always said that fire was symbolic for power and enthusiasm, but one's always had to remember that the element still leaves a lynching burn in your skin. Sometimes...maybe a burn was very much needed on the human skin. A tragically brutal wake-up call to say the least, but it was just harmless enough to keep you alive, but harmful enough to kill you just a little bit. Perhaps a little death was more necessary than a huge life to live?

**"**_**Ugh**_**, for the love of-To be or not to be: that is the questi-"**

_"Oh shut up, asshole. It's your fault that I have to go through shit like this all the time."_

**"My fault? Really? **_**Really?**_** This isn't even my body; it's yours. Why don't YOU find some therapy for YOUR body?"**

_"Because you won't let me..."_

**"Ahh...so you **_**do**_** listen to me, after all."**

"You ruin _everything_..." Mike's voice came out in harsh, uneasy whispers as he could feel his forehead slowly grow colder and his eyesight hazing out to such clouded vision that it resembled television static. **"You **_**really**_** want to question me, son?"** Whenever a sudden feeling of nausea began to sink in, Mike slowly lifted himself from the chair and began to walk so slowly that limping would've been faster. He placed his right palm gently against his forehead and tried as hard as he could to breathe in as many easy breaths as he could. Mike's bare hands began to shake nervously as he closed his eyes and tried to make his way into his bedroom. **"Well then...I'll give you something to fucking think about!"**

Unfortunately...he didn't quite make it and he awoke on the living room floor on Christmas morning at 12:05 A.M to his stepfather patting his back while lying on his side.

"Is he alright? Do I need to call 911?"

"What the fuck is the matter with him tonight?"

"Answer my question, Roger!"

"Fuck woman-I don't know either! I haven't exactly ever been put in a situation like this where-"

"Oh my god,_ he's waking up_! Oh thank god..."

Michael's eyes popped open and he struggled to catch his first few breaths as he slowly gathered that he was once again in a position that he had promised himself he'd never be in again. "My baby...oh my-_Mikey_, are you okay?" Roger's mouth widened and he patted the fallen man's shoulder. "Sport...son?" Michael couldn't answer at the moment...nor did he really want to answer.

"Son...?" He had done it again; he had managed to cause a stir in the room without even realizing what he had done. First he had upset John, now his own family...could Michael be safe anywhere for just _one_ night without Miz destroying him limb by limb? And if that weren't bad enough, it had turned out that Miz had done a lot more than just give the owner of the body a seizure; he had also broken both of the front windows of the house, used a present from under the tree to extinguish the fireplace, flipped the recliner chair over, and dug deep, bloody gashs into Mike's left thigh.

The lachrymose eyes of Mike Mizanin contained such a tale that nobody could even begin to comprehend...not even _he _could. Later in the day once the side effects of his fainting had worn off, Michael was forced to lie to his parents as well as his sister and tell them that he was sleepwalking and had just gotten to carried away in his dreams. His mother made him swear that he'd see a doctor...but it was tragic to say that he never did. Did it break his heart to lie to his parents like this? Absolutely, but how could he possibly explain any of this to the bunch?

It wasn't enough that he had to faint in his childhood home as his depression which had been present before his falling had returned from the shameful depths of his being. What was this feeling existent for, you ask? If Michael had the slightest idea himself as to why he felt so horrid, there'd be an answer to that question. Many possible things could've contributed to it, but why would it even matter in trying to figure it out? Even if he had figured it all out, what makes him think he'd ever actually recover from what has happened?

Whenever Christmas had officially ended, Michael hit the road once again to earn his livings on television week by week. Yeah, some may think that money is the source of everyone's happiness and all problems will be solved, but that wasn't the case at all here. This had been the second time Michael passed out among company...but only another addition to the countless times he would fall in his lifetime. This was only a foreshadow of how the rest of Michael's private life would turn out to be, for while everybody had gone home with their most prized wishes from Santa being granted, Mike was the one who would never have his Christmas wish granted for as long as he lived on this Earth. What that wish was...well...it was nothing more than to just have a little time to breathe in silent armistice.

-  
Man, am I tired...you can probably tell by the end of this chapter that I was probably losing a bit of energy. XD So anyway, I hope you enjoyed this and I'm sorry for taking so long to update! And I humbly thank **Salem Dae**, **Bourtonfreak13**, **booxradley** for reviewing! :D


	22. Chapter 21: Letting Somebody You Love Go

Pairings thus far: _**Minor mentionings of reluctant (ended) Miz/OCs(f), a one-time consensual (ended) Miz/OC(m), Miz is growing more attached to Morrison, Shannon Moore has a girlfriend, one really small mention of (ended) Matt/Lita, Morrison/Melina, and abusive yet questionable content between both of Miz's personas**_

**I FINALLY finished an eight-page report on why we suffer through the 'slings and arrows' of our lives. I feel so accomplished! :D And now that I don't really have anything big to do right now, I suppose I can update this story of mine and, since it's been a while since I've updated, treat you all to a fluffy, yet depressing chapter. :3 I just reread over the last chapter and I have decided that I can **_**finally**_** move on closer to an event that shouldn't be hard at all to write about. What that event is...you'll just have to keep reading. Anyway, enjoy! Also, I wish TWO belated birthdays to men that probably don't deserve to be tortured throughout this story, but are anyway since us fangirls are evil. *evil laughter* Happy Belated Birthday to John Morrison (October 3rd) and The Miz (October 8th)! :D  
-**

**Mike and John's locker room at WrestleMania XXV, 2009**

**"Stupid, stupid, STUPID! How could allow yourself to take the fall like that? By god, Mike, you are such a fucking **_**loser!**_**"**

_"Oh just shut up, you egotistical jackass! It wasn't _my_ fault that The Colons got our titles!"_

**"Oh **_**please**_**. "It wasn't **_**my**_** fault" my ASS! **_**You**_** let the lumberjacks nearly knock your ass out, **_**You**_** let Carlito perform his really crappy looking move on your scrawny ass, and **_**YOU**_** let him put you over with a three count. You, you, fuckin' **_**YOU**_**!"**

_"Excuse me? Don't you mean that _YOU_ let Carlito do all that shit to you? After all, _you_ were the one who said that I wasn't a real wrestler, _you_ were the one that said that it was all you on screen, and _YOU_ are the one who lost the World Tag Team titles to Carlito and Primo!"_

**"It's still YOUR body, asshole!"**

_"Obviously not if you're always wanting me to do things your _way_!"_

For decades now, WrestleMania has been the greatest milestone in all of Sports Entertainment. Competitors, young and old, are tested to see if they could out power other men or women for victory and gold. Whoever _were_ to win would be remembered as truly talented and worthy warriors who were sure to make wrestling history as the absolute _best_. Of course, for those who were to _lose_ at this spectacular event...only great shame rested in their hearts and this shame would be sure to be transformed into fiery vengeance for the next WrestleMania. Everything about this PPV mattered...even if one were to lose in the dark matches; John Morrison and The Miz would know.

**"Losing at the biggest PPV of the year...I feel so...so...**_**humiliated**_**. So much humiliation in my soul right now and it's all **_**YOUR**_** fault!"**

_"Miz...it was _just_ a dark match; it's not a really big deal!"_

**"Just a dark match? **_**Just a dark match? **_**We lost our goddamn titles, Mike! I should kill you where you stand for even insinuating that this isn't a big fucking deal!"**

_"Will you CHILL OUT? We were scripted to lose, _Genius_._

**"Insult my intelligence one more time and I'll fuck you up so badly that you'll bleeding bodily acids out of your-"**

In the middle of Miz's angry tirade, the fading gray door with the names "Miz and Morrison" engraved on the front on a golden plaque opened slowly and the tired, slunked over form of John Hennigan came walking into the room, pink as a healthy tongue and sweating. He rested his left wrist over the silver door knob and placed his right hand over his hip, sighing as if he were deeply captivated in thought. Mike, just as pink and sweaty as his partner was, looked up to the older man with his big blue eyes, feeling the terrible shame and guilt that all men who lost at WrestleMania usually felt after their matches. John slowly turned his head towards his younger partner and exhaled through his nose. Mike repeated John's actions and looked down at his lap as he sat on their wooden bench lying in the middle of the room.

**"-your spinal cord will be torn completely in half and the remains will be pulled out from your anus, the skin on your fingers will be peeled like a banana peel, your-"**

John flashed a weak smile at the young man and gently stepped over towards him. Mike shook his head to himself and stopped in his own movements when he felt a warm palm touch his bare shoulder gently. "Hey dude, don't let his get you down...it's not like we didn't know that we weren't going to win." Michael heaved a deep sigh and raised his head nonchalantly to face The Shaman of Sexy. "I know that the whole thing was scripted and all, but still... it would've been nice to actually _win_ at the biggest PPV of the year. I mean, couldn't they have at least waited until the next episode of ECW to make us lose? Let us have the glory for just _this_ event?"

**"-and rip your ribs right out of your chest and shove them into each of your eye sockets, smashing your eyes like two cherry pies, and then use both of those ribs to rip your face and lynch through-"**

_"Oh my God-_shut up, _you _sick_ bastard. I get the point already!"_

"I know, I know...but we can't let this loss get us down. Just think of it this way, Mikey; we'll get them _next_ year!" Mike shook his head sternly at his best friend and spoke with a harsh voice. "No John...no "_next year_" bullshit. This year really just started and it's already gone to shit. We've failed at just about everything that's been thrown at us this year!" John stared at Michael for a second and then let out a nervous chuckle. "Uh, so? Every team has their down times...we just-uh...h-have to improve our performance is all. Yeah, that's all!"

Mike groaned loudly and quickly got to his feet. "_No_, John! This isn't as simple as it sounds to you!" The wild-haired man placed his left palm against his forehead and rubbed his faced for a moment, stepping away from the long-haired Hennigan. "John... we just _lost_ at _WrestleMania_ and this isn't even the first big failure we've had this year...you can't possibly be happy with where you and I are at right now in this business...are you?" After a long moment of silence, John let out a deep sigh and took Mike's place on the wooden bench.

"No...no, I'm _not_ happy with where we're both at right now. In fact, I absolutely _loathe_ every second that we have to spend breathing in the awful stench of disappointment, but what exactly can we do about it, Mike? We aren't exactly in the same league as guys like Triple H, The Undertaker, or Shawn Michaels and we don't even _suck_ enough to be given pity pushes like John Cena, Batista, or Randy Orton!" John let out one more sigh and he looked up at the ceiling with a light reflecting off of his beautiful brown locks and a bright gleam shining in his eyes. "I want to be in the place of a _true_ legend. I want to share the spotlight with people like Shawn Michaels...actually, I'd love to be given the torch by The Heartbreak Kid himself and carry on honoring the great sport of wrestling as a legend. I want to be a name that people will remember even after I'm long gone and dead...John Morrison: Shaman of Sexy...Future Hall of Famer-oh if only that day will come!" Mike turned his whole body around to face the older man, staring directly at his face, which had held so many dreams and aspirations. The look John had sported on his face was one that Mike had recognized far too easily, for he had had that same expression on his own face many of time before.

John was just like Michael, he was a dreamer who had high expectations for where his life would go and what he'd achieve. The California Native had a talent within him that hardly any other superstars on the roster had and Michael knew just as well that John deserved so much better than being in a second rate tag team with the most hated superstar on the entire show. John was one of those guys who just had that aura about him where you could just _tell_ he'd be a big star one day...why keep waiting for the day to come? Mike could tell by the look on his partner's face and by the unbearable pain in his heart that he'd have to do something that he really didn't want to do, but he didn't care about what _he_ wanted. He only cared about what _John_ wanted and what would be in _John's_ own best interest.

Mike walked over to his partner and took a seat next to him. "The day _will_ come, John. Don't you worry about a thing." John lowered his head back to look at Mike and grinned. "I know, I'm not losing hope just yet. You and I will be prepared next year-you just wait and see." Mike looked down at his lap for a brief moment and placed his hand on top of John's shoulder.

"John."

"Yeah, Mike?"

Mike fought hard with his own competitive thoughts and finally found the courage to look John right in the eyes and say something that he never thought he'd ever say.

"...I think that we should stop teaming up together."

John pulled back from Mike with startled eyes and tilted his head. "Excuse me? W-What do you mean "stop teaming up together"?" Mike shook his head and looked back at John. "I mean that we should break this team up and go solo." John quickly got up from his seat and stared at his partner.

John's eyes reflected a look a hurt and shock as he ran his fingers through his hair and stepped away from Mizanin. "But-but...I thought we had something great going on here..."

Mike's heart broke into two, but he continued to stay strong for his partner.

"You're a wonderful superstar, John. You have so much potential in your little finger that you could blow every one of these competitors out of the water...don't you think I'm holding you back from achieving that potential?"

"Absolutely not! Mike, look at us...we're The _Greatest_ Tag Team of the 21st Century and-"

"And we always will be the greatest..._always_...but you need to think about something here, John. We've done just about everything that there is for a tag team to do...it's time for us to move on to bigger and better things."

John shook his head and waved his hands as if he were dismissing the conversation. "No, no, _NO_!" The Shaman of Sexy stepped closer to his tag team partner. "We have so many people out in the world that would just be torn apart if this team were to break-up! Think of all of our fans, Mike!" Mike breathed through his nose and stood up.

"Correction, _your_ fans. John, the fans-they fucking _love_ you. You're a heel and they _STILL_ think of you as a hero...in their eyes, getting away from me would be the best move you could possibly make in your career. The fans fucking _hate_ me and you know it!"

"You're just being too modest, Mike. They don't _hate_ you; they just-"

"_Bullshit! _How do you even _consider_ having things thrown at me at house shows, people bitching about me on the internet, and people cussing me out in the streets as _not_ being hated? The fans do not like this team for our teamwork; they like it for _you_. It's always been you! _You're_ the one people come to see every week and I'm just a liability holding you back from becoming a future Hall of Famer!"

At this point, Mike was glaring at his best friend with very red, distressed eyes and the only thing keeping him from releasing tears was Miz harping at him inside of his mind and John had calmed down to more of a concerned kind of emotion rather than an angry one. "Mike...do...do you really feel this strongly about my future?" Mike took a deep breath and nodded slowly. "More than you could even _begin_ trying to figure out." Both men looked down at the floor for a moment as an uncomfortable silence swelled into the room.

**"You had BETTER hope that he's as ignorant as he looks or else he'll be extremely suspicious of some things about **_**you**_**, faggot."**

John finally raised his head and stepped over towards his partner until he was so close to him that the tips of Mike's faux-hawk were barely touching up against his right cheek. "Mike..." Michael ignored his name being said and just continued to stare at him and John's feet. John took a short breath and quickly wrapped his arms as tightly as he could around the young man, surprising him into raising his head up. Mike wrapped his own arms around The Shaman of Sexy's neck with a little bit of doubt in his mind while John gently rubbed his fingers against Michael's bare, lower back.

"...thank you."

Mike exhaled through his nostrils quietly as his arm muscles tightened up. Before speaking, Mike decided to just enjoy the warmth of his friend's arms for a moment until having to break it for the lack of awkwardness. His heart began racing against John's chest, smiling meekly and whenever Michael finally did speak, his voice came out much too warmly than he had hoped it would. "It was nothing, really..." When he was sure that his voice control was back and working, Mike added in one more thing to his response in as mute of a voice as he possibly could without John hearing.

"Anything for _you_, my love..."

After a couple of moments, the two men loosened their grips on each other and pulled back away from each other. John was looking at the other man with a look of great appreciation while Mike was looking at him with the same quixotic gleam in his eyes that his own mother had had in _her_ eyes on her and Roger's wedding day. John tilted his head at the starry-eyed man and chuckled. "Something on your mind, buddy?" Mike finally came back to his senses and lowered his head, shaking it at a fast pace.

"Umm-uh-no! Heheh...no, I-I'm just glad that..uh, w-we got this situation under control, is all..." John grinned and placed his hand on top of Mike's shoulder. "So...you think you're gonna be okay when this team _does_ split?" Mike looked back up at John with pink cheeks and smiled. "It'll hurt, but it's for the best of us both. You have potential just dying to be released. As for me...well...we'll just have to see where my career goes."

In order to lighten the mood up a bit, Mike shrugged and continued by saying, "As long as I have this 'Chick Magnet' gimmick, my career is pretty much going_ nowhere_." John smiled and wrapped his arm around the young man's neck. "_I _couldn't of said it better, my friend." Mike quickly looked at John and tilted his head to the side. "_Hey!_ You're not supposed to say that!"

"Hey, you said it first, so I can only agree."

"Dude, _fuck_ you."

"Ah, no thank you. I have Mel to do that for me."

"Screw _you_!"

The two men both broke into simultaneous laughter as John dropped his arm back to his side and the two began getting ready to leave the arena for the night.

-  
Well, I hope this makes up for lost times! :D I hope you guys enjoyed this installment of my second-rate fanfic and I'd love to thank **Salem Dae** and **Bourtonfreak13** for the kind reviews! :D


	23. Chapter 22: The WWE Draft of 2009

Pairings thus far: _**Minor mentionings of reluctant (ended) Miz/OCs(f), a one-time consensual (ended) Miz/OC(m), Miz is growing more attached to Morrison, Shannon Moore has a girlfriend, one really small mention of (ended) Matt/Lita, Morrison/Melina, and abusive yet questionable content between both of Miz's personas**_

**Has anybody else read about the whole "Stand Up For WWE" campaign that Vince McMahon has discussed? If not, it's where he said that he wants fans to report 'faulty' news sites about wrong information or whatever. So this makes me wonder...how the hell are we supposed to know if some form of news is incorrect or not? Besides, with how disappointing the show's become over the course of this year, just about ANYTHING can be presumed to be accurate! So yeah...don't expect the fans to be much help to ya, Vincey. XD *clears throat* ANYWAY...it's now time for a moment in this story that you and I have both dreaded **_**and**_** anticipated, so let's make this happen! Also, have I mentioned just how much of a BITCH it is to find the video footage of these events? I found **_**TWO**_** videos that even came close to giving me match details, but none of them have entrances. So, I'm totally guessing on the entrance attires and I apologize if I'm wrong. D:  
-**

**Backstage at the April 13th edition of Monday Night Raw, 2009**

_"Everybody has a bad anniversary, I suppose..."_April the 13th of the year 2009...this was a date that Michael had remembered to almost a picture perfect description. It was a day that other people may have found to be entertaining, but, to him, it was positively one of the most heartbreaking nights of his life...so emotionally painful, but he could remember everything about that night so well that he could even still smell the mixed fragrances of the hotdog vendors, the mildew from the black curtains, and the sweaty body odors of men returning from the ring. The unexpected, yet so totally predictable booking of that night's episode in Atlanta had planned for something that the 28 year-old had discussed personally with the writing staff as well as his tag team partner, but that was something that the fans didn't need to know. Mike Mizanin didn't want the audience to know that the WWE Draft of 2009 was going to be a night that even though he decided himself to take part in it, he would be sure to be leaving the arena later feeling like he had just shot his dog.

"Five minutes 'till you're on, guys." Michael nodded at the hefty crew member and turned his head back to the black curtains hanging in front of him and his best friend both. The distant roaring of the eager fans sounded constantly in the background and they only continued to get louder and louder as the night progressed. And why wouldn't the fans be eager; six superstars had been drafted to other brands that night. Of course, Mike was going to end up being drafted superstar number seven in several minutes.

**"Ah, so you finally grew the balls to tell the writing staff that you wanted to separate from The Shaman of Fail, huh? **_**Good boy!**_** You're paving my entry to stardom already and I've only been working here for almost two years."**

_"You honestly think that I'm doing this for _you_? _Ha,_ fat chance! I'm doing this for John, artard."_

**"Chyeah-like John's actually going to benefit from this pointless move of yours."**

_"He will...I know he will."_

**"And what if he doesn't? Are you going to **_**cry**_**?"**

_"This is a full proof plan for both him AND me...how can it not work? I have faith that we'll accomplish far greater things whenever we begin fighting solo. If not me, at least him..."_

**"Whatever you say, Lover Boy."**

The minutes passed by very slowly and Mike only grew more and more anxious, tapping his right foot against the floor repetitively while constantly trying to fix his black fedora in a compulsive matter so it would look perfect for the fans. John, wearing his customary jacket to the right color to where it matched perfectly with his tight pants, looked over at the man standing next to him and and slightly lowered his eyes behind his shades. "Excited, much?" Mike responded to the long-haired man in a hasty voice and without even looking at him. "No, I just want this match to be over with already."

"That sounds about like the same thing, dude."

"No, it's not. There's a _big_ difference between being excited and wanting something to be over with."

"Ah, so you really want our partnership to be over with, then?"

Mike stopped what he was doing and turned his head towards John, flashing him a look which hinted a bit of frustration. _"I wish he didn't have to keep reminding me of that..."_ "Honestly John-just between you and me-I _hate_ that this has to happen...teaming up with you has been the most fun I've had in years." John shrugged and tried to give the younger man a promising grin. "Oh well...everybody moves on at some point."

_"Maybe on TV...maybe on TV..."_

Michael faked a smile and held his hand out. "Good luck becoming a star without me, buddy." John chuckled and took Mike's hand, shaking it casually. "Same to you, my soul-brother." _"_Soul brother_...I guess that's all I'll ever be..."_

Soon after the two broke their shake, Kofi Sarkodie-Mensah came walking up from behind them and walked around Hennigan. "C'mon, lovers; we're on in a minute!" Of course, it appeared that Kofi had calculated that one minute incorrectly for Justin Roberts had just began to announce that the next match was another Draft Pick match right after Kofi's sentence had ended. After Roberts was done speaking, Kingston's video and song aired to the constant beat of the cheering fans. "That's my que. See you two in the ring."

The handsome dark man left through the black curtains and the screams of fans grew to a far greater volume than it had been two minutes ago. Kofi's fireworks went off and the ring bell followed as Justin Roberts' voice returned over the sound system. "The following contest is scheduled for one fall...on the way to the ring...representing Monday Night RAW, Kofi...Kingston!" Although he couldn't see his opponent at the moment, Michael could only imagine the look of absolute enthusiasm sparkling on his face like snow resting on a mountain top as his fans cheered his name over and over again, not realizing that he was going to win the bout, anyway. But Michael's imagination didn't last a very long time and was interrupted by sudden brain flash within his mind, sending Mike Mizanin into the back of his troubled brain.

**"My turn, assbag."**

_"Please, Miz...let me forget about this day..."_

**"Ha, not a chance! This is the day of reckoning, the beginning of the END! My hour is upon us, Mikey...and I want you to remember **_**everything**_**."**

"So, you ready for this, Mikey?" The younger man's face was turned away from John and whenever the face finally started to turn to him, the eyes of The Miz burned a hole into John's mind. The demented personality gave the older man a dark, toothy grin. "Ready like fire. Let's do this." John sighed and turned back to view the black curtain once the next song cued for the two men's arrival, followed by an enormous roar of boos.

**"Aw, my adoring public."**

The two men stepped through the curtain and revealed themselves onstage, using their signature poses to show off to the audience. "And the opponent...accompanied by John Morrison...representing ECW...The _Miz_!" While Miz was in the outside world flaunting his physique and patting his manager's shoulders like they were brothers, Mike Mizanin was inside his own mind, watching everything with a keen eye...dreading every approaching second. He was about to see the voice inside of his mind doing something that he wouldn't _ever_ do himself, but Mike knew it had to be done. After all, the old saying _is_, "If you love something enough, you have to let it go."

The two professional wrestlers walked at a regular pace down the ramp, pretending to talk about how Miz was going to so totally dominate in the match and how they were going to celebrate later with a huge group of beautiful women. To everybody else, this seemed to go by in no time whatsoever, but Mike just wanted to why time was sluggishly progressing for himself alone. Out of every time that Miz had taken control of his body, why did _this_ time have to not include the usual loss of memory? Maybe he'd wake up the next morning and completely forget about this entire night? At least it wouldn't hurt him as much that way...

_"It's for John's own good..."_

Miz's arms came out to his sides as the smug grin on his face encouraged more disapproving jeers from the fans.

_"I've become too cumbersome for my own good..."_

The two men entered the ring, occupying the ring posts for further taunting.

_"It isn't like he'll be gone forever..."_

After bringing his arms back to his sides, Miz removed the black fedora from his head, followed by the bandanna-revealing his dark brown faux-hawk with a tinge of blue dye on the side.

_"But that doesn't mean that it won't hurt to be seeing less of him for now on..."_

**"Do you **_**ever**_** shut the fuck up?"**

Eventually, the music finally cut off and the ring bell was sounded again, indicating the starting point of this match. The sixth match of the night kicked off with Kofi Kingston hitting a shoulder block on his opponent, causing the two to lock up. Most of the match was in Kofi's favor from the get-go as Miz was caught in Kingston's leapfrog several times during the match. The 'Chick Magnet' finally managed to gain control of the match after grabbing on to the rope to break Kofi's arm bar. Of course, this didn't last very long at all and the control only came back when John Morrison helped him without the referee's notice.

**"I didn't need his help...attention grabbing prick."**

Miz was finally able to retaliate with a series of knee lifts, driving his opponent into the mat. He managed to lock the chinlock on Kofi and gradually gain more control throughout a good portion of the match..._okay_, it was just for a few minutes. "If this shit weren't scripted, the bastard would be dead by now." Miz's flying turnbuckle clothesline failed after Kofi kicked him in the face and proceeded in going for the pin. "I...2..-"

Miz kicked out of the pin and apprehended Kingston by throwing him into the mat and going for the three count. "1...2...-" Kofi returned to his feet and wrapped his arm around Miz's neck, performing the Russian Leg Sweep which brought Miz back to that mat. The three count attempt by Kingston fails and the next couple of minutes is occupied by exchanging pin fall attempts. Miz would knock Kingston over and go for the pin only for Kofi to kick out at two and Kingston would continue to mirror this.

_"They're stalling...I wish they could just stall a little longer..."_

Unfortunately for Mike Mizanin, the stalling soon ceased whenever Kingston countered Miz's flying clothesline a second time and proceeded in climbing up on the turnbuckle. As if right on cue, John Morrison jumped up to the side of the ring and pushed Kingston off of the post, disqualifying The Miz from the match and giving RAW the Draft pick. The bell rung to symbolize the end of the match and Miz rose from the mat to sit up in staged disbelief, turning to throw his arms out, rise to his knees, and argue with the referee while using his kneecaps to chase after the zebra-printed official. "The winner of this match as a result of a disqualification, Kofi...Kingston!" Miz looked around in painful embarrassment while John had long jumped off the side of the ring to look at his partner with apologetic eyes and Kofi was having his arm raised by the referee.

**"Excellent...it's all going perfectly well with the plan."**

_"...John..."_

John walked up onto the steel steps and Miz pretended to struggle returning to his feet. John's eyes widened and he began speaking in muted lingo due to the loud music of Kofi Kingston playing in the background. "I was trying to help you; I'm so sorry!" Miz threw his arms and mumbled words of disappointment as he slung himself over the ropes to look at the titantron. The moment of 'reckoning' was nigh.

**"Heeere it comes...finally...**_**my**_** chance to shine!"**

The scatterboard containing pictures of all of the ECW stars appeared on the huge screen. Superstars like Undertaker, Christian, Triple H, and more flashed for a brief moment until the 'Draft' logo appeared once again. The moment everybody had waited an entire fifteen seconds had arrived and the reaction was astounding. The man shown on the big screen was a man that ECW would've probably have been proud to lose-a man who nobody would've missed. Mike was sure the fans were positively giddy over the words that laid under the picture.

**"The Miz has been drafted to RAW"**

And suddenly...almost suddenly, just about as his theme music started playing...The Miz's forehead fell cold and he began to lose touch with reality.** "No...not right now...NO!"** Mike Mizanin has never been revealed on an episode of WWE before-his body, maybe-but not the man behind the smug expressions. And Miz wasn't about to let that happen now. **"Get back in your hole, pussy!"**

But for once, Michael didn't listen to Miz. The body that resembled an attractive, but sweaty professional wrestler bow it's head in shame and looked away from the screen and the man now standing next to him. That body was nothing more than a shell...a shell that was rudely inhabited by two conflicting spirits. The empty shell mindlessly stared off into the abyss for a brief moment until the body's original master had returned from his uneasy slumber. The world felt like a two-dimensional story book...and Michael Mizanin was just now widening his eyes and looking around like he was lost in a cloudy maze.

**He didn't listen to me...**

Mike looked over at an uneasy John with eyes easily revealing the unbearable pain he was now feeling in his heart.

**He didn't listen to me...**

Mike thought of nothing...absolutely nothing...how could he whenever so much was crashing on him at one time?

**He didn't listen to me...**

Mike's lips parted open slightly as his beautiful, blue eyes just continuing to tell his story. He had planned this all along, but yet he still felt like he had just made the biggest mistake of his life. Mike didn't want to care about his own desires...he hadn't wanted to care about his desires for a long time. Had Mike ever actually intended to be this upset over a scripted event? Of course not, but his heart insisted that things were not stirring well for him.

**"Why aren't you listening to me?"**

Mike slowly turned his head back to face the titantron. He wanted to examine the face on screen again. That face wasn't even his own face...it was Miz's; Mike was just a puppet that was often tossed around like an old and neglected rag doll. Sometimes the young man wanted people to just look at him for once and at least try understanding how he ached-how his heart was permanently torn in half because the man he would've died for was his "soul brother".

This show may have been scripted, but being drafted to another show also meant he'd have a different schedule as John and he'd more than likely only see him on television for a while. Would Michael still love John if he couldn't ever see him? Would he still dream about the long-haired man at night? These questions wondered in Michael's head for a moment...but what exactly would these questions do for him? What was the point of ever wondering these questions if he never even bothered letting them out?

**"**_**Michael**_**...don't...you...do it. Not now..."**

Continuing to ignore The Miz, Michael looked back over at John with the same look of despair.

**"I'm **_**warning**_** you..."**

John turned to face his former tag-team partner directly.

_**"MICHAEL!"**_

The two men stared at each other for a few seconds until they finally clapped their hands together and pulled into each other for a sorrowful embrace. John patted Mike's shoulder, knowing damn well that Michael was just absolutely devastated over the entire ordeal. John attempted to calm Mike with soft words...words Michael never forgot even to the present day. "It's gonna be okay..." Mike heaved a miserable sigh in John's shoulder.

"John...I need to tell you something before it's too late..." John made a noise in his throat, confirming Mikey to continue on. Mike's heart began to beat faster than it had while wrestling with Kofi and John could feel Mike's jaw quivering on his shoulder. Mizanin realized that he was probably about to make a huge mistake-a colossal mistake, really...but Mike was in the state of mind where he didn't know if he'd ever have another chance. He'd see John again one day...but when?

So the words Michael had been wanting to say for the last year or two finally began seeping outward...

"John...I...I-I...I lo-ugh..."

But it was too late...Mike could feel Miz starting to take control, so he and John slowly turned a touching 180 degrees and Mike pulled away from his best friend. Once Miz's presence became known again, he kicked John in the gut and performed The Mizard of Oz on the startled man. Miz's typical angry demeanor revealed itself once more to the naive public as his instrumental theme song came back over the sound system and he hovered over the fallen body of John Morrison. Luckily, the audience was completely unaware as to why Miz was so angry other than the assumption that he lost because of his manager. Everything that happened within the borders of his head was his own damn business.

After this event had occurred in the ring, the two men eventually found themselves backstage again...away from the annoying glances of ten year-old children. The words exchanged between the two were scarce, but friendly. John reminded Mike that everything was going to be okay and the two were finally supposedly settled on the concept of the team breaking up. Michael figured that this whole thing probably wouldn't ruin their friendship as a whole, but the lover part of Michael's feelings felt ashamedly low and pathetic. And what made him feel even more pathetic was when John asked Mike what it was that he was trying to tell him...all Mike could tell him was that it was just a far fetched dream that John wouldn't even care to put into his mind.

-  
Goddamn, this chapter was long. o.0 Oh well, the longer the better, I suppose. :D Anyway, I want to thank **Salem Dae** and **Bourtonfreak13** for the kind reviews! :3


	24. Chapter 23: Backstage Hazing & Angles

Pairings thus far: _**Minor mentionings of reluctant (ended) Miz/OCs(f), a one-time consensual (ended) Miz/OC(m), Miz is growing more attached to Morrison, Shannon Moore has a girlfriend, one really small mention of (ended) Matt/Lita, Morrison/Melina, and abusive yet questionable content between both of Miz's personas**_

**Happy Belated Thanksgiving, y'all! :3 I hate creative blocks. Well...creative blocks with a mixture of sheer, unadulterated laziness, anyway-that and the fact that I've recently moved houses. XD Not to mention that I've had so many ideas for this story that I've been torn between just skipping to the point and having a result of fewer chapters or just continuing what I was doing before and go into detail about **_**other **_**events **_**before**_** getting to the total climax of the story. For now, I'm just going to go with the flow and see where it leads the plot to being in the end. :) ANYWAY, let's hope I'm not **_**too**_** rusty on my writing skills and let's go on with the story! But first, on another note that's there just soley for the moral value and such, I give my congratulations to the main character of this story winning the WWE Championship!  
-**

**A cramped janitor's closet, a little over a week after the Draft**

**"You **_**had**_** to skip breakfast, huh? You just HAD to enter the RAW Locker Room with KFC in your greasy hands and, instead of hovering over the floor to eat it like any regular person would, you ate OVER A FUCKING GYMBAG. Now look at ya-your ass got me banned from the RAW Locker Room! Who the hell knows when I'm gonna be let back in...and you say **_**I**_** ruin everything, Michael?"**

_"Okay...ONE, it was Popeye's; not KFC. TWO, I said I was sorry and this makes my thirteenth time I've had to say it now. THREE, I shouldn't even be apologizing to the likes of _you_-seeing as how YOU were the one controlling my body at the time it happened. I don't even remember entering the locker room that night...I had to be cursed out and spit on by John Bradshaw Layfield until I _ever _found out about ANY of this shit!"_

**"Ho, what a way to blame m-"**

_"Hell, I had to get the actual details of this situation from Matt Hardy...and that was _after _he found the said piece of chicken lying somewhere on the floor and tried to shove it down my throat!"_

**"Oh like you wouldn't **_**enjoy**_** having things shoved down your throat."**

_"Fuck YOU-can you stop making a mockery out of my sexuality for just ONE, motherfucking second?"_

**"No, because you know it's true."**

_"As it is for you too, asshole!"_

**"And is that **_**my**_** fault? No. If anything, it's YOUR fault for my hardships...such as getting me kicked out of the goddamn locker room!"**

_"Why you egocentric...deceitful little-"_

There always seems to be something about rooms with very limited space that strikes fear into the hearts of those with the unfortunate phobia in relation. Whether it's the lack of leg room or just the idea of being suffocated due to not being given enough oxygen to live off of, millions of lifeforms all across the globe all have the same fear of tight spaces. Luckily, Michael didn't fear tight spaces; he really had no choice but to grow used to them with the way he was treated by others backstage. Whether it was the way he looked, the way he talked, the way he walked, or just the fact that he had spent a couple of years of his life on Reality TV...the reason didn't really even matter at this point; all Mike knew was that he was the most hated man in all of World Wrestling Entertainment.

He was told often by others that the only reason he hadn't been fired was because John Morrison had carried their tag team all on his own for the past year or so. Now that Michael was on Monday Night RAW and John had been drafted to Smackdown in the Supplemental Draft that had occurred off-screen, nobody was there to save him from the ridicule he suffered every single week backstage. Why John felt that he had to stoop to such a low that he defended somebody as meaningless as his former tag team partner was beyond Michael's comprehensation, but he was glad that he was there for him during those hard times. But now John was gone and Michael was now on his own for the time being.

Unfortunately for the young man, it had only been almost two weeks since the WWE Draft and already he was doomed to have to change into his ring gear inside a smelly, dark, and cramped closet that was usually reserved for the stadium's lowly workers earning minimum wage...a routine that he'd be forced to do for almost an entire year. It was times like this that Michael wondered if any of his co-workers ever found themselves suddenly in deep shit with people and not even be able to recollect as to what they did in the first place. Was he the only man in the WWE who had daily battles with a person who he was cursed to forever listen to, even if he begged for mercy? Surely he wasn't the only person there who was tormented by a copy of his own voice within his mind...

Michael just wanted to hold his ground against Miz as he used what little light he had to his advantage while mindlessly stuffing his right foot through his pair of black wrestling boots, the rest of him only wearing his red and black glove and elbow pad combinations and a pair of light blue Fruit of the Loom boxers resting around his waist. Of course, he didn't realize that he was actually repeating his own thoughts in his own voice. "...barbaric...inhuman...uncaring..." Once the boots were on and tied, Michael's mumbling only grew louder as he subconciously reached for his trademark capri shorts.

"uncompassionate...self-centered..." Mike grabbed the shorts and proceeded in stuffing his muscular legs through the leg holes. "What the fuck do you know...?" At this point, the Ohio native was lost entirely in his own thoughts and didn't even pay much attention to how hard his back was now pressing against the door to the tiny closet. Nor did he pay much attention to how loud his voice was becoming.

"You cruel, heartless son of a-_SHIT_!"

Before Michael knew it, the mechanics holding the weak single door to the janitor's closet made a breaking noise and this resulted in the white door swinging open...also leading to Michael falling out into the open with the hem of his capris lying just over his kneecaps. This unfortunate situation wouldn't of been so bad...if it hadn't been for the fact that half of the RAW Locker Room was _also_ in the hallway. Along with the uproar of laughs that came, Michael was greeted with awkward wolf whistles from both women and Dave Bautista. "Eeeeeyy, check out the cockwear on Mikey here!" Dave's comment sparked ever louder laughter as Michael slowly sat up, trying to show some dignity while secretly being too embarrassed to stand all the way up.

Suddenly, John Bradshaw Layfield came prancing up to the fallen wrestler with a wide smile on his face and lightly tapped Mike's left side with his foot. "Well _looky_ here..." The former news anchor slowly circled around the younger star like the leader of a wolf pack, barely kicking the man's sides each time he made a lap around him. The wealthy man finally stopped by Mike's right and turned his focus to the surrounding superstars. "Looks like one of the arena's entry-leveled employees is slacking off on the job!"

Once again, laughter ensued throughout the entire backstage and Miz finally decided that he had had enough and Michael suddenly felt reality leaving him as his image of everything completely blacked-out and his other persona was now in charge. The Miz quickly shook his head as Layfield looked back at him with his smile exposing his intensely white teeth. "Hey fella, you might wanna put that uniform on that's hangin'...riiight,_ there_!" With the word "there", Layfield pointed at a teal janitor's outfit that was hanging to the left of the chemical shelf.

Right as Layfield had expected an applause from his fellow collegues, the fallen man suddenly stood tall before the locker room, stepping out of his capri pants whenever they fell to the ground. Layfield's facial expression didn't change at the sight of the younger man's rather agressive looking eyes. "Awww, did I pitch a nerve, Mikey-Wikey?" The background laughter had softened down to fading giggles whenever The Miz stepped forward to the former FOX News anchor with his fingers balled up into two fists. Despite noticing the fury in the younger man's face, Layfield still refused to give up his big smile.

"Is Mizzy gonna cry like a bitch? Because if so, I want it on video camera, posted all over the internet." Finally, the two men's foreheads touched and Layfield's smile finally faded to an expression similiar to Miz's. For almost an entire minute, the only sound that could be heard in the background was some of the jobbers chanting out "FIGHT!" at the top of their lungs. Finally, Miz's facial expression lightened up to a more amusing feel and he placed his hand on Layfield's right shoulder.

"I probably should get my uniform on; at least I haven't been laid off from any employment _I've_ ever had." The older man's jaw dropped and his eyes sucked in an unsung fury as The Miz backed away from him, prancing around him in nothing but his underwear, gloves, and boots. "But I suppose it really doesn't matter...seeing that the janitor probably gets paid more than an old, washed up news anchor, anyway." At this, Layfield quickly turned to face the confident young man, jabbed his right index finger into his sternum and responded harshly with, "I'll have you know that I got paid _ten times_ more than even John Cena makes here in the WWE and I'll be willing to bet that it's about THIRTY times more than how much you could've EVER made on Reality TV!"

The Miz just stared hard into Layfield's eyes, burning a hole through each and every second. The evil persona then produced a sinister grin across his lips as he held his left hand out towards the veteren performer. "Let me see your old check stubs, buddy." Layfield remained deathly silent for a moment while the other competitors in the background quietly left the scene whenever they realized that their side had lost this round.

Finally, Layfield stepped one step forward and spoke a few final, venomous words before leaving. "Put your damn pants back on, son." With these words, the older man turned away and stomped off into the background somewhere. With that, vengence was finally served for the meantime.

**"And that, ladies and gentlemen, THAT is how you own somebody's ass with their own fucking game."**

Once Miz was sure his work was done, he let go of his sense of reality and allowed his body to revert back to it's original self. **"You'd be lost without me...pathetic little nothing." **After Mikey's eyes instinctively went shut, he rubbed his temples and held his forehead tightly as the expected headache came over him. "Agh..._ow_..." The intense pain in Michael's head caused the young performer to sit back onto the cold floor and rest his forehead over his kneecaps.

At this point, Mike didn't know what he should've been feeling like; should be feel concerned that he didn't have the slightest clue as to what had just occurred, or should be feel relieved that this wasn't one of those extreme black-outs that resulted in him waking up in a cold sweat, twitching like a maniac on the floor? Either way, the night had just started and he already wanted it to be over. Of course, anytime Miz breaks out of his prison within Michael's mind, Mike feels obligated to end the night early so he could avoid further risks. Hell, Mizanin couldn't even get a moment alone...especially not at that moment since there was still one person in the room with him.

"Ugh, are you-like-_ever_ going to put your clothes back on? _Apprendre à avoir à la décence!_"

Michael's head popped up when the feminine voice became audible and he looked down at his lap and realized that Miz must've removed his capri pants. "Well, are you?" The voice's second audio finally grabbed the man's attention once Mike looked up to see a beautiful, blonde woman hovering over him. _"Way to leave me in an awkward situation like this, Miz. Thanks." _Michael heaved a mid-deep sigh and slowly got up. "I suppose that might be a good idea."

The woman folded her arms while the hated man lifted himself to his feet and proceeded in stuffing his legs back into the leg holes of his black capris. She cleared her throat suddenly and caught Mike's attention while he was in the middle of pulling his pants up. "Yes?" The lady held back a giggle and held her hand out. "The name's Maryse Ouellet. I assume that you're Mike Mizanin, yes?"

Mike pulled his pants up to his waist and zipped himself up and nodded. "You got the right guy, Ms. Ouellet." He held his hand out for the woman and she grabbed it, shaking it casually with a grin. "Aha, I see. Well...nice to meet you "Mr. Mizanin." I'm sure we'll be getting to know each other a lot more in the upcoming weeks." Mike gave the woman an unsure expression as he let go of her hand. She noticed his confusion immediately and elaborated.

"Didn't management tell you? You and I are supposed to be in a storyline together soon!" Mike still didn't seem to understand the entire gist of what Maryse was saying and she continued on. "Yeah, we're supposed to have some kind of odd romance angle going on between us, except I have to reject you every single week because my character's a materialistic bitch." _"Really, management? You couldn't just axe the whole "Chick Magnet" thing...really?" _"But in all honesty, I don't reject men just because they aren't rich; I'm FAR more sensible than that."

Mike opened his mouth to speak, but was ultimately cut off by the now excited tone in Maryse's voice. "But do you wanna know what the _best_ part is about this storyline?" Michael managed to let the word "well" out of his mouth before he was once again cut off by the beautiful, French woman. "John _Cena_ is your enemy set for this angle!"

_"Wait...John Cena? Isn't he injured?"_

"He's out for injury right now, but you two are scheduled to fight at some point or another. Isn't that cool? I would give you more specific details, but I have to get ready for tonight. So, I'll just chat with you later on about this storyline, okay?"

Mike took a minute to gather all of the information given him and process it through his head before he could give the excited lady an answer. "_Yeeah_...sure, that would be swell. I look forward to wearing more about this...very _sudden_ decision." Maryse flashed the man a smile and walked away into the background. Once the woman was out of sight, Michael turned back to the janitor's closet and grabbed his "Chick Magnet" shirt along with his trademark fedora with its bandanna and continued getting ready for his match later in the night.

_"This experience with RAW is gonna be...probably the same as it's always been."_

-  
I know, I began losing energy once I reached the last paragraph of this chapter. DX Oh well, hopefully this chapter isn't too rusty from usual. Besides, a new character's been introduced now! :) Anyway, I'd like to thank **Bourtonfreak13**, **Salem Dae**, and **booxradley** for the kind reviews! :D


	25. Chapter 24: Les Meilleurs Amis Du Monde

Pairings thus far: _**Minor mentionings of reluctant (ended) Miz/OCs(f), a one-time consensual (ended) Miz/OC(m), Miz is growing more attached to Morrison, Shannon Moore has a girlfriend, one really small mention of (ended) Matt/Lita, Morrison/Melina, and abusive yet questionable content between both of Miz's personas**_

**Yay, I can stop studying for the ACT now! :D I'll be getting my scores in a few weeks, so hopefully I at least got a few points higher than last year. *crosses fingers* Anyway, onto the discussion of this chapter. I actually wrote the chapter that takes place AFTER this one first. Not to mention that I've been working on the chapter after **_**that **_**chapter, as well (**_**neeeeeeegh**_**...I need to stop jumping ahead of the story!). D: That means that an update for this will come a whole hell of a lot sooner than usual. Probably not **_**immediately**_** after this chapter is posted, but maybe a couple of days after to give people the chance to read this chapter first. :) Anyway, onward!  
-**

**Backstage in the chair supply room, two months later**

The crew was settled, the French Canadian was in the right position, and the red light came on. Maryse Ouellet had her right foot propped on top on a blue crate, pushing her hair back casually as she leaned forward toward the crate. She wasn't allowed to quit doing this until the music from the arena was completely muted and the male lead for this backstage promo received his cue to enter the scene. Luckily, it didn't take very long for the gloved fingers of Michael Mizanin's screen character to gently wrap themselves around her arm.

The smiling man greeted the beautiful blonde in an incoherent, quiet voice. Barely hearing him, Maryse turned away and responded with, "_Naah_, I'm getting ready for my match." Miz looked up at the ceiling and pulled her closer to him, raising the volume of his voice so the viewers at home could hear him properly. "_Listen_..."

"_Ooooh_...?"

He let go of her arm and continued on.

"I get the whole "Hard to Get" thing. It's cute, but it doesn't work with me."

The woman's tone became annoyed, but she still allowed a seductive feel to hit her words.

"Like I told you before, don't _even_ waste _my_time until you do something impressive to John Cena."

"You mean like what I did to him tonight?"

Maryse responded with unintelligible French, causing Miz to raises his eyebrows a bit in confusion. Finally, she translated for him.

"Miz, one cheap shot...that doesn't mean _anything_."

At "one cheap shot", the blonde woman put up her right index finger and shook it in order to get her point across to the purple-tinged-haired man in front of her. Sadly, this didn't work.

"What I did to John Cena tonight was just to prove that he can't rattle me."

At this point, Miz began using animated gestures with his arms and hands in order to put emphasis on his next words while Maryse continued to look unimpressed.

"He can _say_that he's gonna stretch me with a STF, or break my bones-"You can't see me"-that stuff doesn't _phase_ me!"

He squinted his eyes at the French Canadian and continued his confident tirade.

"Six days from now, I'm gonna prove that not only do I belong here, but I _own _John Cena. Because I'm The Miz and I'm-"

Maryse shushed him by placing his index finger over his lips. He lifted his arms up higher while she opened her mouth to speak.

"I _told_ you; do _something_...impressive."

With that, Ouellet flashed the Anti-Cena another seductive smile before turning away and walking off-screen. All that there was left to do on-screen for The Miz was just to stand there, appearing to be plotting with himself for a moment until the camera's red light turned off. "Aaaaaaaaaand, CLEAR!" The professional wrestler's facial expression changed upon Miz giving Michael control once again.

**"Ah...acting time's over for now. Go make an ass out of yourself, douche."**

Roy, the head camera man, gave Michael a thumbs up and grinned. "Great job, Mizzy." Mike laughed and returned the thumbs up to the husky man. "Thank you, Roy."

The big man looked towards the door Maryse had exited from and walked over to the pointy haired wrestler. "Shit, man..." Roy placed his hand over Mike's right shoulder, keeping his eyes glued to the door. "_That _was a nice piece of ass standing next to you just now...if it were me, I would've said "Fuck it" to bein' on camera and I would've grabbed a chunkful of that lady's juicy ass!" This caused the camera man to burst out into loud laughter along with Michael laughing at the mental image of Roy having his gut repeatedly kicked by the blonde woman.

Roy slapped his knee and ceased his laughter for a moment. "You know, Mizanin..." He switched his focus from the door onto Michael. "...I'd consider myself lucky, if I were you." The Ohio native gave the man a puzzled smile and responded with, "Why, because I get to be on screen with her every week?"

**"**_**Ugh**_**...learn words to use in response, please? Jackass..."**

The tall, large camera man shrugged. "Well..._that_, and also the fact that she _obviously_ has a thing for you." Michael laughed, responding with, "Nah, she's just a very outgoing gal." Roy gave the young man a reassuring look.

"_Idunnomikey_...I've seen the way she looks at you whenever you two talk before the show and she sure looks like she's checkin' you out." Michael shrugged. "We're just friends, Roy." It was true, the two had become really good friends off the show. They'd send each other random text messages, she decided that she was going to teach him how to speak French, and he decided that he was going actually try learning so he could understand half of the crap she said; it had even gotten to the point where Maryse would stand up for Michael whenever one of the guys backstage would terrorize him. She was a really great friend to have by his side and Michael couldn't have been anymore grateful to have made her acquaintance.

**"That's **_**only**_** because you're too weak to handle these situations on your own, so you have a woman do it for you!"**

_"Oh? So _you're _a woman, Miz?"_

**"Oh ha ha **_**ha**_**, very funny...I at least help you **_**effectively**_**."**

_"At least _she_ doesn't get me in even more trouble when she helps me out..."_

**"Only because she has a vagina! The guys in the back won't fight back if a pretty lady is telling them not to!"**

Roy shrugged again and finally responded with, "If you say so, Mikey." The large man patted Mike's shoulder and added more to his comment. "But if it were _me_in your shoes...I'd let 'er kiss my dick." Roy finally left the room laughing, followed by his crew. Michael gave the overweight camera man a squeamish look once he was sure that he was gone.

_"Do all men that work behind the scenes with WWE _have_ to be repulsive perverts that are too busy staring at women's asses rather than doing anything else that's _actually_ worth the paycheck? Jesus _Christ_...what is _wrong _with the male race right now?."_

**"The same thing that's been wrong with the male race for as long as the world has been alive, **_**genius**_**."**

Once the show was finally over, Michael had already changed back into his street clothes and was heading out towards the exit of the arena, which lead to the parking lot. Carrying his gymbag over his left shoulder, Michael turned the silver handle and opened the door. _"Yay...I can now leave and get some sleep."_ Suddenly, Michael felt his cell phone vibrate in his back pocket. He propped the door open with his right foot, grabbed the phone from his pocket, and answered.

"Hello?"

_"Bonjour, magnifique."_

Mike rolled his eyes and smiled, walking out to his rented car.

_"Bonjour, mon ami."_

_"Ah, vous êtes en pratiquant votre français, je vois."_

_"Il ya encore quelques mots que je ne peux pas comprendre, mais je suis d'apprentissage."_

_"Continuez votre bon travail. La pratique rend parfait, vous savez."_

Michael made it to his rented Mercury Sable and placed his bag on the ground.

_"Comme je l'ai vraiment le choix? Vous me tenir harceler à la pratique chaque fois que je vous parle!"_

Maryse giggled.

_"That sounded strange."_

"How so?"

_"You said, "As I really have a choice? You keep me harass practice whenever I speak to you!" I'm pretty sure that you meant to say, "Dois-je le choix? Vous gardez lancinante moi de pratiquer chaque fois que nous parlons!" Poor little Mikey misinterpreted."_

Mike clapped his hand against his forehead and sighed, causing Maryse to laugh on the other end.

"Excuse me for not being French Canadian, Miss Teacher...Lady...Person?"

_"Hehee...okay, _student._ I won't give you _too_ bad of a grade for that performance."_

"So does that leave me with a 'B'?"

_"Meh...I'll give you a 'C' for effort."_

"A '_C'_? Ah c'mon, that's totally a 'B' at best!"

Maryse giggled once again on the other line.

_"Nope. A 'C'."_

"'B'."

_"'C'."_

"B!"

_"Haha...Be_-'C'_!"_

"Waaaah...you _mean_ person you!"

Mike faked a sniffling noise.

_"Awwwwww...does Mikey want a 'B'?"_

"Yes, pwease..."

_"Oh okay...'B'."_

"Yaaay!"

Maryse burst with laughter at the man's idiotic, yet adorable personality and decided to finally change the subject.

_"So...what are you doing right now?"_

"Well, I _was_ in the process of leaving the arena. _But_..."

_"You're _still _there? Damn, you're slow!"_

"Well, I nearly fell asleep against the wall during last portion of the show with Triple H and Randy Orton, also."

_"_That _boring, huh?"_

"It wasn't _so_ boring the first twenty times I had to see them on my screen, but after a while of the same shit over and over again..."

_"I agree. Somebody needs to slap the writers in the back of their heads for not coming up with more original storylines."_

"I know, right?"

Suddenly, Michael heard a faint yawn on Maryse's end.

_"I'm so tired...you need to get your butt back over to the hotel and get some sleep. After all, we're going to be travelling around The United States all week long!'_

Mike groaned; he didn't want to be reminded of the restless week that's in store for him.

"Okay, _Mom_. Good night."

_"Bonne nuit."_

With this, Michael flipped the phone closed and stuffed it back into his back pocket. He grabbed his gymbag from the ground and clicked the middle button on his car keys to pop the trunk open. He dropped the light gymbag into the trunk and closed it shut. Afterwords, he opened the door to the driver's side of the Mercury Sable and closed it.

After he fastened his seatbelt, he stuck the key into the ignition. Before he continued on with leaving, he decided to just sit in his seat for a moment, thinking about how the rest of the week would pan out. The WWE superstars would first travel to Florida to perform for the untelevised FCW, then they'd have have to travel to some location for media promotions, followed by a soon to be announced location for weekly event that took place every Saturday, which would lastly result in the gang travelling to Nashville, Tennessee for the next episode of Monday Night RAW. Yes, the schedule was hectic, but at least Michael had at least _one_ friend to travel with.

With this thought, the man finally started the car, shifted into drive, and drove through the mostly empty parking lot...leaving for long night's rest.

-  
As you can probably tell, this chapter is mainly character development written for Maryse (seeing how she just entered the story one chapter ago). Really, I didn't have many ideas for this chapter originally because I brainstormed more on what happens in the chapter after this one. But, I think I created a strong enough link between this chapter and the next with the ending. :) Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed and I want to thank **Bourtonfreak13**, **booxradley**, and **Salem Dae** for the kind reviews! :D


	26. Chapter 25: Baby Steps?

Pairings thus far: _**Minor mentionings of reluctant (ended) Miz/OCs(f), a one-time consensual (ended) Miz/OC(m), Miz is growing more attached to Morrison, Shannon Moore has a girlfriend, one really small mention of (ended) Matt/Lita, Morrison/Melina, and abusive yet questionable content between both of Miz's personas**_

**Yay, I'm actually writing a chapter that I absolutely **_**brainstormed**_** on with ideas for once! :D The only thing about this chapter that had me stuck for a minute was the matter of timing. Is the story at an alright place right now to have a chapter like this one? I suppose that as long as the time periods in this story keep fluctuating like they have been, it should be okay. :) So with this being said, it's safe to assume that something important to the plot happens in this chapter. :D Anyway, onward!  
-**

**The Next Monday**

**Outside of Michael's childhood house...**

_"Stupid bitch, go away! Can't you see that I'm trying to enjoy the game with my buddies?" Curse, pause, lift, toss, crash, and scream...it was a pattern that Mike had grown far too used to for the first ten years of his life. Well, the audio, anyway; he often refused to enter into his house whenever these awful sounds were being heard well around the entire block. Oh the countless complaints he had had the unfortunate position in being forced into listening to:_

_"Hey kid, can you tell your parents to shut up? I'm tryin' to catch some sleep."_

_"Mikey, I strongly suggest your mother and father to see a marriage counselor; they're putting you in danger with all the constant fighting!"_

_"Tell your fucking parents to shut up or I'm calling the cops!"_

_What was Michael supposed to do in these given situations, anyway? Was he supposed to run away crying, or was he supposed to just walk into the house and break the estranged lovers apart? Surely nobody could expect a _child _to be strong enough to calm an angry drunk and a battered housewife down from a horrible spat! Not unless he was Superman..._

_"Woman, you do what I TELL you to fuckin' do; get your ass back in the kitchen!"_

_"Yes, honey..."_

_"Don't "Yes, honey" me; just do it!"_

_The little boy, who hadn't even reached puberty at that point, continued to stand motionless in his front yard while these noises sprung from his suburban household. The neighborhood children had grown so used to the events in the Mizanin household that they just didn't even bother to bat an eye at the home and even as a child, Michael still found it difficult to allow himself to burst into tears whenever he was feeling down. People had often told him-told his entire class, anyway, that crying was the easiest and cheapest remedy to any depressing thought. Of course, the young boys of his class all laughed and carried on about how only girls cried when they were sad._

_"You're wasting my time; go play with that mistake that we made a couple of years ago."_

_Since Mikey had come to terms that running away, crying, or saving the day would all be useless attempts at bringing peace, what else was there for him to do other than just standing there and letting everything he heard sink into his skin? Nothing...there wasn't anything he could've done to help his mother. The day she filed for divorce was the greatest day of her life and only _she _could've made the decision to go through with it; not Michael. However, you'd figure that a child raised mainly by his newly strong-willed mother would grow up to be just the same, but Michael was only strong-willed whenever he wasn't even conscious enough to remember anything that previously transpired._

_"Don't look at me like you're deaf, get out of my face or I'll smack you so hard that not even _I'll _recognize you!"_

_What kind of fatherly figure was this? Sure, once this failure of a parent was out of Michael's life, a replacement surely came some time afterword...but it just wasn't the same. Roger's kind heart simply wasn't enough to make up for all of the wasted years of dysfunction his stepson had already endured. Wounds can be mended, but scars can never be healed._

_"I WARNED you, bitch! Get o'er here!"_

_Which now left Michael to be alone, forced to spend the first portion of his life outside of his own home where the grass was green, sheltering the bottom his white mailbox at the tip of the street as he stood, listening to the same happenings almost every single day. All that Michael ever chose to do was to simply close his eyes as tightly as he could and wish the fighting would stop...that his father would just be sober for one day...that his parents could put their differences aside and just love each other as they should; at least for him if for nobody else. Even though none of his wishing ever paid off, it was the only time he ever felt like there was a God watching over him, listening to his prayers with a caring heart. So that's exactly what little Mikey did at that moment; he closed his eyes and bowed his head down with a desperate prayer in his head._

_"Stop runnin'!"_

_Pleading words began running through the boy's head like an anxious hyena._

_"Get away from me, you drunk BASTARD!"_

_Michael's left eye twitched for a split second._

_"The dogs aren't gonna even sniff your body up, you dead cunt!"_

_The little boy's eyes closed even tighter and suddenly...the child could feel a warm hand on his shoulder._

_"It's okay, Michael. Everything is going to be okay; it's just a bad dream."_

_Mizanin cautiously opened his eyes, but didn't raise his head to see the soft-spoken voice of the man touching his shoulder blade. However, Michael _did_ notice that he was few feet taller than he had been moments ago; perhaps the mysterious man's touch had aged him to his current days as an adult? "Don't be afraid anymore, Mike. Let these memories flee into a the forgotten past where they belong." The man's voice became too familiar to the now full-grown man and Michael finally decided to raise his head up, letting his eyes greet this dear friend._

_"So...you can't even leave me alone in my dreams, can you John?"_

_The heartwarming smile on the face of John Hennigan shimmered with the sunny sky and didn't stop whenever he traded his smile for a short chuckle. "Have you thought that _maybe _you don't mind if I invade your dreams like this?" It was now Michael's turn to smile at the older man. "God knows that I don't mind at the slightest as to anything of mine you want to be in." Mike raised his head to face the sky for a brief moment and released a meek giggle before looking back at John. _

_"Actually, God knows that I can't seem to get enough of seeing you in my thoughts and dreams." John chuckled lightly and slid his hand from Michael's shoulder all the way to his right cheek. "You're brave enough to tell me this in your sleep, but yet in reality, you can't tell me this at all?" The younger man let out a pathetic sigh and shrugged. "Reality is a cruel world to live in, John. If it weren't so horrible, I wouldn't be forced to pretend that I'm feeling a certain way opposite to how I'm actually feeling."_

_"And _maybe _you wouldn't be so disturbingly upset as often as you are. I mean, what would the WWE Universe think if Mr. Cocky Bastard Miz was actually the complete opposite of what he makes himself out to be?"_

_"Well John, I can _guarantee _you that I probably wouldn't be as hated as I am now."_

_"Like _hell _you wouldn't be! Mike, what you don't realize is that the one thing people hate worse than over-confidence is somebody who isn't true to their nature...whether it be on-screen _or_ off-screen!"_

_"That maybe true, but have you thought of the possibility that _maybe_ I can't control how I act in public?"_

_"Oh stop it Mike; you're just being over-dramatic."_

_Michael exhaled through his nose and bowed his head, sighing deeply. "John...why would I lie in my own dreams?" John tilted his head at the younger star and used his left hand to caress Michael's cheek while using his right to lift his chin to where he was facing him again. "Why would you lie in real life?"_

_Michael broke free from The Shaman of Sexy's grasp and turned his back to him. "I'm not allowed to feel the freedom others have so much of, John." Mizanin began walking towards the street while continuing on with his answer. "I am completely incapable of making decisions on my own...I'm monitored on every action I make. I-I can't even make the simplest of decisions without expecting to regret it later..."_

_John ran after the troubled human and grabbed his left arm, forcing him around once again._

_"Mike, it can't possibly be that-"_

_"It's HELL, John! It's like I'm serving a life sentence with no chance of parole in the worst prison in the world-it feels like I'm in a Nazi Death Camp, cursed to immortality in forever being tortured in the Death Labs!"_

_"And it will only get worse if you don't _do _something about it! For Christ's sake, Mike, you're living your childhood DREAM; you're wrestling on television every week for WWE...do you honestly want to spend the time that you _could_ be spending enjoying your life...dying every living second because the guilt you feel in your heart is eating you alive?"_

_Michael was silent for couple of seconds before he shifted his eyes towards the pavement of the street. "...what am I supposed to do, John? How...how am I supposed to change something about myself that seems to make up most of what my life has become?" John sighed and cupped his hands around Michael's face, prompting Mike to shift his eyes back at the long-haired man. "You just have to take baby steps is all, Mikey. Rome wasn't built in a day, you know."_

_Mike's sky blue eyes widened a little bit as his hands gently grabbed onto John's elbows. "What would be considered 'baby steps' for this?" John flashed a warm smile to the younger man and leaned in to capture Michael's lips with his own into a tender, yet short kiss. John pulled away and freed Michael's face from his palms, causing Michael to lose his grip on his arms._

_"You'll see very soon, my love; just you wait and see..."_

_Wait and see...wait and see..._

_..._

**Michael's hotel room...**

It was 3:52 in the morning at The Gaylord Opryland Hotel and the thousands upon thousands of people staying at the luxurious hotel were all either sleeping or partying at one of the indoor bars. Despite his love for partying, Michael had been too exhausted after a long day of travelling to Monday Night RAW's next destination to even_ think _about going out for a drink or two. So after the long trip to the Nashville, The Anti-Cena received his room key and headed straight for the 5th floor to find his room. He fell into a deep sleep the moment he had tossed himself onto the soft bed after changing into his night clothes, which was just a pair of grey sweat pants.

"Nah-no...John...come back..." The professional wrestler switched from lying on his left side to lying on his right. His feet began to lazily rub up against each other while he mumbled in his sleep. "Ba...baby steps..."

Suddenly, a loud knocking noise was heard from Mike's room door. The sound was enough to make the young man's eyes slowly come open and break him out of his slumber. "Huh...wha..?" Michael raised his head up to look at the digital clock, the time causing him to groan.

_"Who would be wanting to talk to me _this_ early in the morning?"_

**"...huh? What? Who the fuck would be up this early? I was trying to catch some zzz's; whoever the hell it is better have a damn good reason to wake me up like this!"**

The knocking noise came again, causing Mike to get up from bed and sluggishly walk over to the door. "Alright...hold your jets..." Without really thinking of who was at the door, Mike turned the knob and opened the door to the sight of a barefooted Maryse standing in the hallway, wearing a black overcoat. The blonde bombshell gave the man an odd grin and spoke in a quiet voice as to not disturb anybody trying to sleep.

"Hello, Mikey." Michael rubbed his left eye and replied with, "Hey Maryse..." The Sultry Diva tilted her head at the tired Mizanin and pouted her bottom lip. "D'aaw...did I wake you?"

**"**_**No**_**, we just got done running a marathon for cancer patients. Of course you woke us up, you stupid bitch."**

Michael ignored the voice within his brain and just focused on waking himself up enough so he could speak coherent words. "Ugh...maybe you woke me up, but oh well...what's up?" Maryse's grin grew and she let out a quiet giggle. "Well, nothing yet...but I can certainly tell you what's _going_ to be up soon..." Michael, assuming that she was talking about something work-related, moved over to the side and held his arm out, pointing to the inside of his room.

"Well, come in if you want. I don't have any coffee brewed, but I can make some if you wish." Now Maryse's former giggle turned into more of a chuckle as she made herself into the room. Michael closed the door and walked over to the table, where his home brought coffee maker sat. "Do you take sugar or anything?" Maryse sat herself on Michael's wrinkled bed and crossed her legs. "I'm not really thirsty for coffee, actually."

**"That's cool; get out of my room."**

With that, Michael shrugged and turned around to face the blonde woman on his bed. "Suit yourself, then." Maryse repositioned herself to where she was laying on her stomach, elbows keeping her upper half propped up and her knees resting just an inch below the bed's pillows while the bottom half of her legs were sticking up towards the ceiling. "So anyway, what exactly have you come to tell me this early in the morning?"

**"That she's been released?"**

_"Shut up, Miz."_

Maryse gave the man another devilish grin, flipping her body around to where she was now on her back while her feet remained pointing at the ceiling. "I'm not thirsty for coffee...but rather for something more on the..._creamy _side." Mike lifted his right eyebrow while the rest of his face expressed a look that only proved that he didn't get where the woman was getting at. "Maryse, have you been drinking?"

She shook her head and giggled. "Maybe a little, but I'm not drunk; just a little tipsy." Before Michael could say anything else, Maryse sat herself up and turned her body to face the man. "I have something to show you, Mikey...you wanna see?" Starting to feel rather weary of where she was getting at, Michael placed his left hand over his forehead and shook his head.

"Maryse, it's late and I'm really tired, so can you just-"

But before Michael could finish his sentence, Maryse had already opened her black overcoat to reveal her bare chest to the face of Michael Mizanin. The look of shock on the young man's face was greater than it had ever been before while the beautiful woman got to her feet and proceeded in letting the coat slide off her shoulders and onto the carpet. Taking Michael's facial expression as a sign that he was impressed with what he saw, she strutted over to the man as slowly and seductively as she could. Unfortunately for Maryse, Michael was the farthest thing from being impressed and this was expressed whenever he rushed towards the removed overcoat, grabbed it, and tossed it at the naked lady.

"What the _fuck _Michael, why're you-"

"Are you out of your mind or something, Maryse? You're starch-fucking-naked!"

**"No fucking shit, Sherlock!"**

"Ha, and your point? _Vous savez que vous_-"

"Maryse, quit with the French already!"

"_Je peux être votre sale pute peu si_-"

"I said _quit_ with the French, dammit!"

Maryse flashed a look of hatred at the distraught man and she grabbed her coat, but didn't put it back on. "Why are you playing hard to get, Michael? You _know_ I can make your dick so hard that you'll be on your _knees_ wanting me to-" "Yeah, well my dick is nowhere close to being hard. So, if you please, I'd love for you to get out of my room _right now_." Not wanting to believe him, Maryse shifted her eyes towards Michael's crotch...only to realize that he wasn't lying.

**"That's right, slut...there's nothing down there for you to suck off. Oh, poor **_**you**_**."**

By the expression on the blonde woman's face, Michael could tell that she had gotten the point that he wasn't interested in her. Not only was Maryse obviously disappointed, but she was also dumbstruck by all possible belief. What man _wouldn't_ want to have sex with her? Every man that had ever seen her without her clothes on had _always_ fancied her to the point of wanting to take her home, but yet now, when she was in the presence of a man who she actually _wanted_ to have a sexual relationship with, he was rejecting her and even trying to kick her out of his room. What was the meaning of this?

"Mike, I'm having trouble figuring you out right now...I really am. I mean...all those times we've talked...I was almost _sure_ that you were interested. Tell me, is this just your game that you play on every woman or am I just ignorant?" Mike didn't know how to answer the woman and therefore let her continue her tirade without his input. "I mean for _real_, Mike? What kind of man are you to have a beautiful, naked woman practically _throwing_ herself at you, but you show _no_ interest in taking her? I need to know, Michael!" Still, Michael couldn't find the words to explain himself to the sexually flustered woman; especially since the reason was something that even he was very deeply ashamed of.

What excuse could he _possibly _use for something as awkward as this situation? Even though Michael had only known Maryse for a little over two months, the two had already developed a close bond between one another. He saw something in her that he hadn't seen since he still had contact with his old childhood friends. However, that was just it; he saw a wonderful friend in her, but nothing else.

"Maryse...you're beautiful; you really are, but..." The blonde crossed her arms, covering up her breasts. "But _what_, Michael?" His eyes shifted to the ground and he shook his head slowly. "I-I...I don't know how to say it." Maryse tilted her head while giving the man a puzzled expression on her face.

"You don't like my personality?"

"No, that's not it."

"You have issues opening up to people?"

"Well...kind of, but that's not it."

"You already have a girlfriend?"

"No, I don't have a girlfriend."

At this point, Maryse threw her arms up and scoffed at the professional wrestler. "What the hell, Michael? What reason is there for you not wanting to be with me? Out of everything I can possibly think of, the _only _logical explanation is that you must be-..." That was it. The horrified look in Michael's eyes gave Maryse the answer she was looking for. With this discovery, her eyes widened and she slapped her right hand over her mouth.

Maryse Ouellet had figured Michael Mizanin out; she knew his dark secret.

**"**_**No**_**...this can't be happening...this can't be FUCKING happening!"**

Upon her discovery, Maryse quickly put her black overcoat back on.

**"How could you do this to me, Michael?"**

Once Maryse noticed that the frightened expression on the face of Michael Mizanin had gotten so vivid that he looked like he was either about to cry or urinate himself out of the severe fear of his secret being revealed, she quickly walked over to him and wrapped her arms around him, resting her chin on his shoulder.

**"You couldn't keep a secret to save your own fucking life!"**

The blonde spoke in a soft voice as she gently rubbed his bare back. "I guess you've never really told anybody this, have you?" All that Michael could do at this point was gasp for air without any release of words. "_Shhh_...there, there...everything is going to be okay. Your secret is safe with me; I promise on my own life that I will not spill your secret to anybody." Whenever Maryse started to feel Michael shivering a little bit, she held him even closer.

**"FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU..."**

"I'm not going to judge you, Michael. Your secret is in accepting, caring hands...I'm just sorry that I tried to pressure you into something that obviously must've made you feel uncomfortable." Maryse shifted her eyes to the ground and chuckled. "I guess I've learned my lesson today; don't think about anything kinky whenever you're drinking." Mike didn't see her humor and remained silent.

The man's silence gave Maryse the hint that he needed some time to himself to think about what had transpired this early morning. So with this thought, she let go of him and stepped a few steps back. "You need some sleep, Mike. Yesterday was a long day and this morning has been very...unexpected. I highly suggest that you rest for now and just try to relax." The blonde bombshell walked over to Michael's room door and placed her hand on the knob. She turned to face the disgruntled man one more time before finally leaving.

"_Bonne nuit, Michael. Je vais prendre votre secret dans la tombe avec moi ... croyez-moi_."

And with that, she opened the door and disappeared into the hallway. Immediately after the door came to a close, Michael's temples developed a searing pain so massive that he dropped to his hands and knees. **"You think **_**this**_** is painful, Michael? HUH? You don't know what pain truly feels like!"** Michael tried to fight back by grabbing the carpet and attempting to pull himself forward. **"I'll show you what pain REALLY is, you worthless son of a fuck! When I'm done with you, NOBODY in this entire, goddamn hotel will even recognize you!"**

Michael desperately wanted to get himself back to his feet in at least some kind of attempt to run, but the pain was so awful that he couldn't move from the ground and he ended up finally losing consciousness...

-  
Poor Mikey, why must he always be tormented in these chapters? :( I'm actually very happy with how this chapter came out, but of course what matters most is how you guys think of it. After all, you are the customers and I am the humble server who serves up chapters with very depressing atmospheres about them. :) Anyway, I'd like to thank **Bourtonfreak13 **for the kind review! :)


	27. Chapter 26: Red Herrings & Blood Stains

Pairings thus far: _**Minor mentionings of reluctant (ended) Miz/OCs(f), a one-time consensual (ended) Miz/OC(m), Miz is growing more attached to Morrison, Shannon Moore has a girlfriend, one really small mention of (ended) Matt/Lita, Morrison/Melina, and abusive yet questionable content between both of Miz's personas**_

**Happy Belated New Year to everyone! :D How did you guys' Christmas go? Mine went pretty well; got Fable III and I love it so far. Then again, I loved Fable II, too. (God, I'm such a nerd). XD Ah well, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter to start the new year off with! :D  
-**

**Later that morning...**

It was 8:01 in the morning at The Gaylord Opryland Hotel in Nashville, Tennessee. Around this time, guests were either waking up to fetch themselves some breakfast, trying to recuperate themselves from a long night of partying, or still sleeping soundly in their beds. Of course, the guests who were there soley for the conventions that regularly took place within the hotel were forced to wake up this early due to the wake-calls from whoever their guide leader was. Luckily for the men and women who worked for World Wrestling Entertainment as professional wrestlers, there really wasn't a specific time that anybody was supposed to be out of bed; just as long as they had their asses over at the arena on time for the show to go on air that night.

After all, who wouldn't want to explore a place so extraordinary such as The Gaylord Opryland Hotel? Aside from it being the 23rd largest hotel in the entire world, there was so much detail to the inside of the building that guests sometimes forget that they're inside a hotel rather than out in the middle of town square! When strolling through the Delta section of the Gaylord Opryland, a guest will run into not only a very scenic area with outdoorsy decor' along with more than ten buildings selling either food, clothes, or gifts, but it also connects to The Opry Mills shopping mall. Other than the constant country music playing in the background, who _wouldn't_ want to visit a place like this?

Well, if it hadn't been for everything that he had been through in the last four to five hours, Michael Mizanin would still be in the category of people who actually enjoyed staying at The Gaylord Opryland Hotel. First, he was rudely awaken at almost four in the morning after a long day of travelling. Next, he was greeted by a drunk and horny Maryse Ouellet and, after making it perfectly clear to the woman that he wasn't interested in her, was the unexpecting victim of having the one huge secret that he's kept for years revealed. If this wasn't bad enough, the rest of the night became a total blur once The Miz was furious enough to take over Michael's body and leave Michael lying face first on the tiled floor of the bathroom of his hotel room whenever he finally woke up.

Upon opening his eyes, the first thing that Michael noticed was that his left eye was sore and reluctant to open fully. The left side of his face had been laying in a medium sized puddle of blood. At the sting of the blood touching his eye, Michael cringed and forced his eye closed, triggering a sharp pain in his neck to arrive. Once the neck pain came, every other part of his body that had been injured that morning lost the feeling of the endorphins giving him relief. The pain registering into Michael's body was quite possibly the worst that he had ever felt in his entire life; not even the usual pain of being hit by other professional wrestlers each week compared to this feeling.

_"My head...my face...my waist...my legs..."_

After a few minutes of examining the startling fresh blood with his right eye, Michael finally gathered the nerve to fight through the pain in his thighs and use all the strength he had in his wrists to slowly lift himself to his knees. His left eye struggled to open itself up, but he eventually had both eyes as open as the pain in his body would allow. All that the Mizanin could bare for a few moments was just letting the blood from his face drip onto the kneecaps of his already blood-stained sweat pants. His hands were shaking feverishly and soon his entire body began doing the same.

_"So much blood...wh-...what happened to me? I-I think I'm going to be sick..."_

With that in mind, Michael's forehead fell cold and he rushed over to the oddly clean toliet. Still on his knees, he ducked his face into the bowl and vomited. He managed to hold himself up by grabbing both sides of the porcelain as tightly as he could. With the already seething pain aching his torso, he let out a pathetic yelp in pain whenever he had finished. He pulled himself up enough for him to notice the bloody handprints his hands had just now created on the once clean toilet.

_"Miz...what did you do to me?"_

**"Just take a look for yourself; this isn't even the best part yet."**

Doing as he was told, Mike struggled to lift himself to his feet. The pain in his legs ached like a thousand burning fires, but he tried to ignore it as he limped over to the bathroom mirror...only to met with a very horrifying sight. Michael's eyes widened significantly once he saw that the whole left side of his face as well as his forehead was painted in red blood, his left eye was pretty badly bruised, his nose, as well as both his upper and lower lips, were busted open, and multiple, smaller bruises covered the right side of his face. Strangely enough, Michael's chest had hardly any injuries presently visible on him other than a few bruises and blood from either the floor or his face that had made its way to his torso.

**"This body wrestles shirtless...I'm not stupid enough to make people wonder."**

However, when it came to his face, Michael still looked like he had been smacked in the face with a hammer, punched out, and then ganged up on by an army of fire ants.

**"You look much better this way, I believe."**

In a desperate attempt to stop the blood from running all over his body, Michael turned both knobs on the sink and proceeded in splashing warm water over his face. The water cleaned his palms and allowed blood from his battered face to drip into the clean sink, red fluids slowly flowing down the drain. The frightened young man turned off the running water and proceeded in removing his blood-soaked sweat pants so he could use them as a towel to clean the blood up from his body and the bathroom room; he didn't want the hotel staff to find blood stains on their towels...they'd accuse him of God knows what and then the police would come and cuff him. Unfortunately, something stopped Mike while he was trying to remove his his slumber wear; deep, bloody gashes had been cut into both of his thighs as well as there being massive swelling right above his left knee. It was at that moment when Michael discovered what it truly meant to fear for one's life.

_"_Miz_...how could you...what-...how could you-"_

**"You had it coming, Michael...**_**especially **_**since you blabbed our little secret to that tramp, Maryse."**

Trying to ignore the wounds on his legs, Mike pulled his sweat pants down and freed his feet from the legs of the stained clothing.

_"I-I never said _anything_! She figured it out on her own! Do...do you actually think I _intended_ for her to find out that I like men?"_

**"You could've lied! You could've told her that you had a girlfriend! But **_**no**_**...you fucked up and let it slip that you were single. What kind of a moron are you, Michael? You should know by now that a woman like her doesn't often face rejection from a man she wants to gets sick with...how **_**stupid**_** are you?"**

Michael dampened the clothes under the sink faucet for a moment or two until he turned around and started wiping the blood from his legs.

_"I didn't want to lie to her, Miz! She's been such a great friend to me...I didn't want to lie to her face like that..."_

**"Why? You've lied to everybody else about your sexual orientation!"**

Luckily, the bleeding had stopped on the swollen leg; however, Michael still had to hold the wet clothes against the other leg so the blood could stop running. After a few minutes had passed by, Michael moved the clothing away from the gash to check and see how the condition of the bleeding was at the moment.

_"I was _stuck_, Miz! She had caught me in such a tight situation that there would've been no way that I could've gotten away with lying to her! Think about it...she came in _naked_...if I were straight, girlfriend or no girlfriend, she would've noticed an obvious lump looking at her. But there was nothing...so what was I _supposed_ to do?"_

**"You could've still lied and said that you have trouble getting it up!"**

Luckily, the bleeding had calmed and Michael felt confident enough to clean the floor without the gash on his leg causing more blood to make it to the floor.

_"And then encourage her to try getting it up for me? _Sick!_ No way..._not _my idea of fun, Miz."_

**"You're such a fucking faggot, Michael."**

The disgruntled man hovered the clothing under the running water of the sink to dampened the fabric once more.

_"So are you..."_

Michael then got on his knees with the pants clutched tightly in his hands and scrubbed the floor as throughly as he could.

**"**_**I**_** at least know how to lie...pussy..."**

After what seemed to be hours of continuous scrubbing and arguing with the monster living inside his head, Michael eventually had the entire bathroom free of any splattered blood; toilet and sink included. However, he still felt a small paranoia troubling his already clusterfucked mind. _"What about the rest of the room? How much bloodshed did Miz leave in my hotel room as a whole?"_ Hoping that he wouldn't be met with a totally destroyed hotel room, Michael limped over towards the bathroom door. The troubled star took a deep breath, counted to three silently, and slowly opened the door.

_"Let's just see what _else _you've ruined, Miz."_

**"**_**Tch**_**...don't be so damn **_**hateful**_**."**

Surprisingly, the room wasn't _quite_ as in bad of a condition as Mike had feared it would be. Both double beds were stripped naked of their blankets, Michael's coffee maker from home had been busted and the glass shards were scattered across the coffee table, and a tiny trace of blood was found on the bed post of the bed Michael had claimed as his. Of course, there was also something a bit more graphic that caught the young man's concern the worst; a single shard of glass separated from the others. Why did this one piece of glass scare him? This was the only glass shard to have blood plastered onto it.

**"You should consider yourself **_**lucky**_** that every glass shard is still on the table and no blood managed to touch the carpet; the **_**last **_**thing a future Hall of Famer such as myself needs is to land the top headlines for possible criminal activity!"**

Michael didn't want to risk somebody wanting to barge into his room while it was still in such a messy state, so he quickly began the cleaning process. Despite the searing pain in his body, he managed to clean his room until it was spotless. The only real challenge for his body was fixing the beds Miz had screwed with during his reign...although the simple fact that the beds were even in this state in the first place had the young man confused. Was there possibly a struggle that Michael couldn't remember? What was Miz's reason for messing with _both_ of the beds?

**"I could go into detail about the symbolism of this situation, but I'm pretty sure your inferior mind wouldn't understand."**

_"_Symbolism? _What're you talking about?"_

**"**_**Nah**_**...you aren't ready to know. Not **_**yet**_**...maybe one day when you piss me off enough."**

With not a lot of options left, Michael proceeded in returning to the bathroom to grab the blood-stained pants and throw them into the trashcan until he could get a hold of a large trash bag to haul the unwanted items away. Michael then returned to the bathroom, closed the door behind him, removed his black boxers, and turned both of the valves in the shower. When the water had finally warmed up to a reasonable temperature, Michael stepped into the shower. Wincing at the pain of the water hitting his injured body, Michael let himself get lost in his own thoughts...just like whenever he was a young boy except he now had unwanted battle wounds being washed away.

_"God...where have you been all of these years? Where are you _now_...where are you when I need you the most? Do you even care about me? If so, why did you let me get hurt again? Why did you let Maryse find out my _deepest _secret? Why did you let The Miz destroy me like this? Why God...why do you love hurting me? Why did you force me to be attracted to the wrong gender? Why...why must your sick little idea of fun be used on me? Why not people that actually deserve this kind of treatment...like _terrorists_? Tell me this much...is the pain ever going to stop coming? I can't keep going on like this, God...is the pain ever going to go away? What did I ever do to upset you? Explain this to me...at least show me a positive sign somewhere!"_

After finishing his cleansing, the young man took the proper precautions of using cover-up to cover his bruises all over his face. Yes, the idea was rather cliche', but it worked like a charm. Men use cover-up everyday in order to rid their horrid face mountains; Michael used it to cover bruises The Miz gave him. It was either wearing make-up or telling people that the wounds were from wrestling, but the young man feared this would make him come across as weak.

**"You're weak either way, honestly."**

After everything was done and he had clean clothes wrapped on his body as an outfit, Michael layed on his back on top of his bed, staring at the ceiling. He didn't have the heart to explore the hotel with his co-workers; not after the morning he had had...not to mention that there was no telling if Miz had caused a big enough uproar during his reign in the man's body to have people speculating. So, to stay on the safe side, the man decided that the best idea was just stay put in the safety of his hotel room. With a plan like this, it would at least be safe to say that Miz couldn't get any angrier with him.

It was really a shame, with all due respect. Somebody with as much to give as Michael Mizanin being forced to bottle up his personal problems like he had all these years was just a moral crime. Nobody on the face of the Earth has the perfect life, but the people with a life as complicated as Mike's were also pretty hard to come by. It wasn't exactly easy being a celebrity, but he managed to hold everything together in public. It was just the matter of being able to handle himself when he was alone with just the vindictive voice of The Miz taunting him that broke him.

Maybe he would've been better off if he had a life more like John Hennigan's. John had everything: a loyal fanbase, a free mind, pleasure in doing things that he actually enjoyed doing...the only thing that John had that Michael was glad to not have was a girlfriend who came across as a good person to the ignorant, but was nothing more than a user underneath that smile of hers. Even with Melina tainting John's soul, the older man still had more to live for than Michael could ever hope to have. Maybe that was one reason that he loved John so much; he envied his free mindset.

John was free to do whatever he wanted without having to face any kind of punishment from a stronger force; Michael wasn't. John was allowed to express his feelings of attachment to people; Michael wasn't. John had Melina, the one woman that taught him what it felt like to feel love; the man Michael loved more than anything was the same man with the same woman. No matter how much Michael hated Melina, he still couldn't change the fact that she had John wrapped around her little finger while Mike was left in the dark, watching the couple's love develop.

Maybe that was how it was intended; maybe Michael was destined to suffer while he watched the man he loved find happiness with a woman who wouldn't even shed a tear if he were to die. Maybe Michael was destined to forever serve The Miz's command. At that point, Michael wanted to forget about everything and just relax...hoping for that one out of one million chance that he'll have a happy thought. Sadly, fate wouldn't let him have that and this was proven when an audible knock was heard on his room door.

This time, Michael knew _exactly_ who it was.

The young man took a deep breath and got to his feet. "Coming..." Mike unlocked the door and opened casually to see Maryse Ouellet standing while wearing a pink tee with tight blue jeans. The woman had an uneasy smile on her face, but she still managed to greet Michael with a friendly voice. "Good morning, Sleepy Head!"

Michael, feeling as uneasy as the French Canadian was, gave his own smile. "Morning, Maryse." The blonde clapped her palms together once and nodded. Then, the dreaded awkward silence came for a moment until Maryse finally broke it. "So...mind if I come in and talk to you for a while?"

Michael gave a half-assed shrug, causing to Maryse to lightly chuckle. "Don't worry, I'm not naked this time." It was now Mike's turn to chuckle as he eventually moved over so the woman could enter the room. After the door closed, Maryse took a seat on top of Michael's bed. Instead of joining her, Michael kept his distance and stayed on his feet by the door.

Maryse noticed this and decided she wanted to try connecting to the troubled man on a personal level. She began patting the mattress with her right hand, motioning for Mike to join her. "I won't bite, Michael. You can sit next to me if you want." The professional wrestler hesitated for a moment, but ultimately decided to trust the blonde woman by walking (hiding his limp from earlier) over to her and taking a seat to her right. Maryse offered the man a smiled and cut right to the discussion in order to avoid another awkward silence.

"I-I just wanted to say that I'm still so very sorry for what happened this morning. I know that you must be out of your mind with worry still...but you have remember what I said; your secret is safe with me."

Michael remained silent.

"I can tell that what I found out was something that must be a very touchy subject with you; every gay friend I've ever had didn't want to hide _anything_...I guess you're the first to be different."

Michael cringed at the word "gay" and continued to keep his mouth shut.

"Mike...you have to talk to me at some point...I _said_ I was sorry, didn't I?"

Finally, Michael found the bravery to open his mouth.

"Maryse...you weren't supposed to find out. _Nobody_ was ever supposed to find out."

Maryse tilted her head curiously.

"_Why_? Why wasn't anybody supposed to know, Michael?"

Michael let out a quick sigh.

"Because my career would end if something like that ever got out to the public."

"_How _would your career end if the world found out that you were gay?"

_"There's the word again..." _Michael's nerves grew irritated with Maryse's usage of the forbidden word, but he managed to continue on.

"I want to be a legend-a _Hall of Famer_...people like me don't ever achieve that much in thier careers as professional wrestlers. Pat Patterson may have done it, but I have yet to see anybody else like me earn as much as he has in their careers."

Maryse folded her arms.

"So...you're saying that Vince would make you a jobber if you were to come out?"

Mike nodded.

"Especially now since I'm hated by pretty much _everybody_ backstage."

"You _do_ realize that that sounds very stupid, right?"

"I don't expect you to understand, but please-"

"I mean _c'mon_, Michael. It's 2009...the world isn't as closed-minded as it once was. Nobody's going to hunt you down for being who you are. In fact, everybody would probably like you better if you _were_ a bit more honest with them!"

Michael was silent for a moment before responding.

"You obviously haven't met my family back in Ohio."

Maryse rolled her eyes.

"They're your _family_; they'd love you no matter who you are!"

"You wouldn't be saying that if you actually knew them for yourself. Yeah, they love me...but they just happen to disapprove greatly of people like me."

Maryse sighed.

"Mike..._ugh_..."

Realizing that there wasn't much else that she could say to convince Michael to break out of his secret shell, Maryse grew silent for a few moments. Michael knew that she was only trying to help and, while he was grateful that she was being so supportive of him, he was also still against the idea of her even knowing in the first place. Suddenly, Maryse's face had another smile like she had just thought of a brightside. "Well, I guess it's officially a good thing that everybody thinks we're dating."

Michael's eyebrow rose and his eyes widened.

"..._dating_? Who ever said we were-"

"A couple of the boys saw me coming into your room this morning and I lied to them and said I shagged you...but I think this is a brilliant set-up, if you ask me."

Seeing that Michael was at a loss of words, Maryse continued on with her master plan.

"You and I can hold hands, kiss, and all that junk...but the only problem is that people would start suspecting something fishy if we made our "relationship" open to the public. So what do we do? We pretend to keep it on the down low. Movie stars do it all the time; so why can't we? You and I will be a "couple" for the people backstage, but the media will be totally unaware of our supposed "relationship". That way, nobody will _ever_ suspect a thing."

Trying to gather his thoughts, Michael took a minute to think everything that had been said through.

"So...you're saying that you and I pretend to have a relationship, but publicly pretend that we _don't_ have a relationship?"

Maryse nodded excitedly. "_Ne suis-je un génie_?" Michael went over the plan inside his head over and over again, trying to see if Maryse had thought of any possible loopholes in her scheme. "What about going on dates? Our co-workers would probably want us to go on double dates with them...wouldn't paparazzi be snapping photos of us being out together?" Maryse gave the man a clever smile.

"Whoever said a man and woman couldn't hang out in town and be goofy together as _friends_? I hold hands with my guy friends all the time; what would the paprazzi care about?" Maryse had a good point, and Michael knew immediately that that was really the only tricky loophole he could actually think of; pictures of the two kissing or anything would be easily avoidable any day. "Okay fine, you have a good plan there, I suppose." Maryse gave the man an accomplished smile and scooted closer to him on the bed. "I know it's a great plan, but I'll only actually go with it if you promise me something." Michael shrugged.

"Promise me that you'll be yourself when it's just you and me. Like, don't be afraid to talk about your problems. And, by all means, feel free to talk to me about really cute guys; it happens to be one of my _favorite_ subjects of all time!"

Michael couldn't help but laugh at Maryse's honesty, but in the sense that he admired it rather than felt embarrassed by it; the last time he had had a friend so loyal was back when he, Mitch, and Bobby were a crew. Michael didn't know what he was getting himself into letting Maryse in on his secret like this, but he felt something that he hadn't felt in many years; trust. After this day was over, Mike knew more than anything that Maryse would become almost a sister figure to him. Well, after this crazy "dating" con was over.

"I promise."

-  
I hate hot flashes...and I'm not even pregnant as far as I know. D: Anyway, I'd like to thank **Salem Dae**, **booxradley**, and **Bourtonfreak13** for the kind reviews! :D


End file.
